The Little Things
by lalaland01
Summary: It's often the little things that make or break something. They can start something new, or destroy something ancient, and these three women know more about this than anyone. Molly/Jeremy Elijah/OC Claire/Damon
1. Prologue

**Hi! Here is my first story for FanFiction, but I don't plan on it being my last... :) Enjoy!**

**I'm sorry if this chapter is a little confusing, it's basically just kicking everything off. It is a little shorter than I would have liked, I will admit, but I promise to do my best to lengthen others in the future. Also, this story will focus mainly on three women, two Heroes characters and an OC, and this chapter will be in their different POVs, but I think I will just make the rest of the story 3rd Person so it's not as confusing.**

**Anyway, here it is!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but some of the plot and any OCs that pop up. **

* * *

**A LITTLE TENSION**

_8th of March, 1979_

_Desme's POV_

I had finally done it. Fallen in love, settled down, started a family...everything finally came together for me, after years of waiting and hoping that maybe, just maybe, it could happen.

Now, 19 years after the day I was wed to my husband, William, it is all falling apart, and I don't understand why. I mean, I have done everything possible to keep him happy, and to care for our two children, but now it's all falling apart, and there seems to be nothing I can do about it.

The smallest things are setting him off. From a child's toy in the hallway to a bone in a chicken sandwich, and it frustrates me to know that no matter how hard I try, the man I love will find fault in what I have done.

But I suppose it's not all his fault. I have been pretty edgy lately. Ever since the day I met him, all those years ago, I vowed to myself that I would keep my emotions in check, and never let IT control me again.

But now I can feel it lurking in the back of my mind, begging for me to surrender and allow it's lust for blood to control my body, to let it murder, destroy and try to end my pain, but in the end, it would only bring more. I can't let it back in, not again...

If you're wondering what 'it' is, well, I honestly cannot tell you, as I myself, despite it holding me in it's clutches for almost 70 years, have no idea what it is. it prolongs my life, preventing me from death by any means, be it natural or not, and it demands only one thing in return...

Death.

If I allow it to take over, it is as though my soul retreats, as though I am asleep, and it takes over, controlling everything I do. It kills everything and everyone it sees. When I awaken, I am surrounded with the ripped apart bodies of those whom it has murdered.

Those whom I have murdered.

Each time someone dies at my hand, I inherit everything from them. Their strength, their speed...it is all added to my own, making me stronger and faster. I am given their memories, every moment of their lives fill my head, as though they are my own memories...sometimes at night, I become confused, wondering who I really am, but somehow I always manage to remember, but the fear always holds me that one day I will just go mad and forget all about who I am, and it won't be that _thing _that kills, but me...

But, of course, more important than the strength, speed and memories, is the life. I am given every year my victims have lived, and each year, each day, each moment they breathed, is added to my life, making it longer.

I am sure that if I sat down one day and went through all the memories, counting the amount of victims whose memories have been passed to me, I could work out how many I have killed, and how many years each of them had, thus working out just how long I will be alive for before I begin to deteriorate.

But, despite my physical strength, I doubt I am emotionally, or mentally strong enough to cope with that task.

I never remember killing them, so I couldn't go by my own memories, I would have to go through theirs...and because I don't remember killing them, I only know how it kills because of the final memories from my victims. I have seen myself, only different. When it takes over, it changes me...my eyes become white, and black veins cover my body like spider webs.

It's horrific and frightening, but it hasn't happened since the day I met Will...he keeps me happy, and the only time the _thing _can take over if I don't consciously let it is if I am furious or broken hearted, and I have managed to avoid both of these scenarios since my marriage to William.

But now, I was angry at him all the time, and so _it _took advantage of my current state of weakness and lurked in the back of my mind, telling me that it could fix all my problems, take away all my pain...

Yeah right.

Our youngest child, Darlene, who was seven years old, called to me from her room.

"MOMMY!"

"Coming love," I replied, walking through the house and into her room. She was sitting on her bed, playing with some of her old rag dolls. "What's the matter Darlie?" I asked, using her pet name.

"Where's Billy?" she asked, referring to her old brother, who we had named William Jr, but most people called him Bill or Billy.

"He's out helping your father. He'll be back soon love," I promised. "Do you want something to eat?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "What about those new chocolate balls that Daddy brought home from the store the other day?" she asked hopefully, and I laughed.

"Love, it's dinner time in an hour or so, and I'm making fried chicken. It's your favourite!" I said, trying to appease her. I liked to be firm with my children, but this was sometimes difficult. Darlene was adorable, and, well, Billy was getting a little too old for me to tell him what to do all the time...hell, he was getting too old for me to call him Billy too. He was just going on 17, and he was very sensible and mature.

Darlie pouted. "But..."

I frowned. "Don't but me Darlene," I told her sternly. "You can have some after dinner, okay?"

She nodded, and her eyes widened with wonder. "Can I have 100?"

I laughed at her. "No, but you can have 5."

"Five!" she complained, and I laughed. "I want 100!"

"Now Darlie, if you had 100, do you think there would be any left for the rest of us?" I asked her, and she pouted, shaking her head.

"No."

"Is that fair?" I asked her.

"No."

"So do you still think you should have 100?" I asked her, and she shook her head slowly. "Good girl. Now, I think I hear your Daddy and Billy."

Her eyes widened with excitement, her temporary disappointment forgotten as she jumped off the bed, her bare feet slapping on the floor as she ran through the house to get to the front door to greet her father and big brother.

"Walk, Darlie!" I called after her, but she wasn't really listening.

"Ah, there's my little girl!" I heard William greet, and Darlie giggled as he swept her off her feet, literally.

I walked to the front of the house to where they all were; my family. I leaned against the doorway, crossing my arms over my chest and smiling at them all.

"Oof!" William groaned, putting Darlie down. "I'm getting too old for that Darlie. Either that or you just getting too big!"

"You're getting old," Billy confirmed, a smirk on his face.

I laughed and gave his shoulder a whack. "Very funny, Billy-Boy," I said, using the nickname I had given him ever since he was lying in a cot.

"I know I am, Ma," he replied, the seemingly ever present smirk still on his face. He leant toward me and kissed my cheek lightly, before backing away and giving me a winning smile.

I shot him a look. "You're being extra friendly..." I trailed off questioningly.

"I am just very happy to see you," he informed me, and I nodded.

"Sure, sure..." I sighed. "What do you want?"

His smirk disappeared, for once.

"He wants to go out with some friends tonight," William informed me, and I nodded.

"Tonight?" I asked him, and he nodded.

"Yes ma'am," he replied, and I bit my lip.

"I don't know Billy-Boy," I said. "How late will you be back?"

"By ten, I promise," he assured, and I looked into his eyes.

"Alright," I agreed, and his eyes widened, much like his younger sister's had only moments beforehand.

"Really?" he asked, hardly believing it.

I laughed and whacked his shoulder lightly once more. "You don't have to act so surprised that I would let you do something like that!" I teased. "I am very agreeable, you know."

"Of course you are!" he agreed, kissing my cheek again.

"But make sure you are back by ten, no later. I would let you stay out longer, but it's a school night, and you have to be ready to learn tomorrow at eight. Understood?" I asked, waiting for confirmation, which he was ready to give.

"Yes ma'am," he said, nodding fervently. "Thank you! I'm gonna go and get ready."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" William called out after him, and I laughed.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

It was late, well past 11, and Billy still wasn't home. I was getting very worried, but William seemed to be fine with it, which made me furious.

"How can you be so calm?" I demanded, but quietly. Darlie had gone to be long ago, and though she wasn't a light sleeper, I didn't want to wake her, especially not when Will and I were fighting.

"He's almost a man, Dezzie!" he replied, using my pet name, which would usually make me happy, but now it just irritated me more than anything else.

"I don't care, William!" I shot back. "He is still our son, and he is out very late!"

"I would hardly call this 'late', Desme," he argued. "It's not even midnight, and he is almost a man."

"I gave him a time, William. I told him to be back by then, and he's not. Doesn't that strike you as unusual, or the least bit curious?" I asked him, my eyes daring him ot give me the wrong answer.

"No," he replied, clueless of the anger and rage that was coursing through me.

"No? NO?" I couldn't believe it. "Our dependable, punctual, well raised, mature, grown up Billy, is over an hour late in getting home, and you don't find it strange?"

"No, I don't. He's old enough to make his own decisions, and mistakes. Whatever is going on, I am sure he is fine. As you said, he is well raised, and we both know that for a fact," he tried to reason with me, but I was having none of it.

"No, I know that for a fact, because I did it myself!" I replied, and the moment the words left my mouth I regretted them.

"Are you saying that I didn't raise my own son?" he asked coolly, and it was worse than any yelling or anger he could have directed toward me.

And normal wife would have asked for forgiveness, and informed their husband that they weren't thinking straight, that they didn't mean it...but of course, my stubbornness and pride wouldn't allow it. "Yes," I replied simply, matching his tone.

He stepped close to me, his glare penetrating through me and making me sweat, but I refused to back down.

_It _wouldn't let me.

"How dare you?" he asked, his voice rising and his face growing red. "How dare you even think that, let alone say it aloud?"

"Because it's true!" I replied, locking his gaze, matching his glare.

"He is my son, just as much as he is yours! I raised him also! I taught him things, I loved him! Her is my son, my first born, and I would rather die than not have a part in raising him, yet you stand there and dare suggest that I neglected to pay attention to him? To my beloved boy?"

"I wouldn't if it wasn't true!" I yelled in reply, and just as he was about to yell at me once more, I heard a small whimper from the doorway, and all my anger melted away in an instant. "Darlie..." I sighed. "Darlie baby, come out here please."

She emerged, tears brimming in her green eyes.

"Darlie, it's okay..." William assured her, stepping toward her. "Mommy and I were just talking."

"It didn't sound like talking," she replied, sniffing.

"Well, we were getting a bit mad, but it's just because we're a bit worried. Your brother isn't home yet, and it's late, but it's okay love, he will be here soon, " I told her, and she nodded. "Now I'll take you back to bed." She nodded once more and I held out my hand, and she took it. I gave William one last glare before leading my daughter out of the room, down the hall and into her own bedroom. I put her in the bed, and pulled the covers up, just as I heard footsteps outside and the front door open.

Billy was finally home.

"Good night, love," I said to her, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

"Night Mommy," she replied, and I gave her one last smile before leaving the room, closing the door over behind me. I left it open just enough to leave a sliver of light in her room, as she still held onto a fear of the dark rather tightly, and I honestly didn't blame her. If I could some dark thing lurking in my mind, begging for the death of others, then who knew what else was out there?

I walked through the house and into the lounge room, where William was patting Billy on the back and herding him out of the room.

"What is going on?" I asked, and they both turned to see me.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Billy said, and I glared at him.

"You should be sorry!" I said, being careful to be quiet this time. "I was so worried! Who knew what could have happened to you? You could have been hurt, or worse, and I don't know what I would have done-"

"Dezzie, he's fine," William cut me off. "He said he was sorry."

I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms over my chest. "I am well aware of the fact that he may be sorry, but that doesn't make it okay!" I hissed.

"Look, Ma, I did try to get home as fast as possible, but I got a bit caught up...it's not a big deal, I swear!"

"Not a big deal? Billy, of course it's a big de-"

"Desme, he said sorry, he tried to explain. Just let it go," William interrupted once more.

I turned on him, glaring. "Billy, I think you should go to your room," I said, not taking my eyes of my husband.

"But Ma-"

"Now, Billy!" I demanded, and he sighed heavily.

"Yes ma'am," he said, and I waited until I heard his footsteps walking away before I spoke once more.

"How dare you undermine my authority?" I began, feeling the fury rise up once more. I knew it wasn't safe to get mad, but I just couldn't let it go...my pride wouldn't let me..._it _wouldn't let me.

"Your 'authority'? Desme, the last time I checked, we were both parents, and therefore we have equal authority. You were being completely unfair, and so I said something about it!" he defended himself, and a scoffed.

"You challenged me in front of our son, which is completely inappropriate, not to mention unethical and downright bad for the running of this household!"

"Well,. you seem to think that I don't really play a part in this household, despite the fact that I work every day to get the money to pay for everything in this household, and feed it's members. I work, Desme, and I work _hard_, okay? I try my best to be a father by providing and caring for this family, but apparently I don't do enough! I am sorry, if I have failed you all somehow, but I have tried my best, okay?"

I almost backed down. Almost. "I don't think you have," I told him, and before I knew it, I began to feel a hauntingly familiar pressure building up in my head. Unintelligible whispers filled my mind, and shivers ran up my spine.

"Look, I don't know what brought this on, Desme, but I have had enough of the tension, and your anger! I know I'm not perfect, but I try!" he was almost screaming now.

I opened my mouth to reply, but the words never left my mouth, as everything went black.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

I must have only been out for 30 seconds to a minute, but it was long enough.

When I became aware of everything once more, it felt as though my heart was being ripped apart.

Much like my husband, the love my life, had been by my own hands.

There was so much blood, everywhere, and I felt as though I was going to be sick. Tears sprung into my eyes, and I began to shake. I went to pout a hand to my mouth, but quickly withdrew it as the scent of blood filled my nostrils and I realized that my husbands blood was literally all over my hands. Up to my elbows, in fact.

"Ma, I heard some noises!" I heard Billy's voice, and panic filled my heart. "Is everything okay?" he asked, just as he walked into the room. The shock on his face as he took in the sight was heartbreaking in itself. He became suddenly pale, and he looked as though he would through up. "OH MY GOD!" he yelled, and I am sure that had his father been in one piece he would have rushed right over to his corpse, but...the pieces were everywhere.

Billy stumbled into the room, looking around. He took in my appearance, and the blood all over me.

"Billy," I began, but he cut me off.

"Did you do this?" he asked, so quiet I could barely hear it.

"Billy!" I sobbed.

He whirled around and grabbed me. "DID. YOU. DO. THIS." he seethed, and I burst into tears.

"I'm so sorry-"

"NOO!" he screamed, shoving me away from him.

I moved toward my son, holding a hand out to him. "I couldn't help it!" I yelled. "I'm so...so...sorry..." I was sobbing now, my whole body shaking as the reality of what had happened, of what I had done, finally began to sink in.

"Don't touch me!" he screamed. "I am taking Darlene, and I am getting the hell out of here!"

"No!" I choked. "Please! Billy!" I reached out for him, but he shoved me once, more, and I fell back, crashing into the coffee table.

"You..." he began. "You stay away from us. I don't care what happens to you, just...I never want to see you again. You come near either of us ever again, and I will kill you, bitch!"

"BILLY!"

Darlene walked in the room, but he ran to her and scooped her up, cradling her head to his shoulder so she wouldn't see what he had.

And with that, my baby boy took my daughter and ran from me.

I collapsed to the floor, no longer caring that my hands and arms were covered with blood as I clawed at my face, sobbing into my hands. I drew my own blood, but I hardly felt the pain. My blood stained the carpet, mixing with that of the man I loved...I wanted to die, then and there.

But I couldn't.

* * *

**A BIRTHDAY PRESENT**_  
_

_1st of December, 2004_

_Molly Walker's POV_

"Molly sweetheart!" my mother called from downstairs. "Come for dinner love!"

"Coming mom!" I called in reply, putting my new doll, Penny, on my bed neatly, making sure she was comfortable. I just turned nine years old today, and I don't really play with dolls any more, but that doesn't mean I love them any less. I like making sure they are neat and pretty.

"The foods getting cold darling!" my father called, and I ran out the door, down the stairs and into the living room.

"I'm here!" I said loudly, and my mom smiled at me.

"I can see that love. Come and sit down," she said, pulling my chair out for me. I sat on top and looked at the table, where my mother had taken a burger and fries out of their packaging and put them on a plate for me. She likes to cook gross, healthy food most of the time, but when it's my birthday, I get to choose. Dad was held up in traffic on his way home from work, so dinner is a little late, and I know I'll have to go to bed after this.

"So, how has your birthday been, poppet?" Dad asked as he tucked into his food.

"Miss Harper got the whole class to sing for me, and then I told them what I got for my birthday!" I told him.

"Really? And has anything else come in the mail during the day from anyone?" he asked, but I had to tell him no. Usually my Gran sends me a present in the post for my birthday and for Christmas, but she died earlier this year. Mom and Dad were really sad about it, and I was too, but I didn't really get a lot of what was going on. I mean, I have to be able to see her again. A person doesn't just disappear, and I saw her dressed up all nice at the funeral, and it looked like she was asleep.

It was pretty quiet for a while, but Mom and Dad started talking about boring adult stuff, like the bills and the neighbours.

We soon finish eating, and Dad asks me if I'm ready for bed.

"Yeah, I just have to brush my teeth," I told him, and he smiled at me like he always does.

"Then go and do that, and your Mom and I will go and get our last present for you and bring it up to you when you're up in bed," he promised, so I took off to brush my teeth as fast as I could.

I brushed them pretty hard with my pink toothbrush that had all the Disney princesses on it. I had gotten it a few weeks ago, and even though Mom said it was starting to get too old, I didn't want to give it up. My gums started to hurt because I was going to fast, so I spat into the sink and started to rinse my mouth out. I wiped my face with my towel and put my tooth brush and tooth paste back in the drawer.

I ran to my bedroom and put the dolls gently aside before peeling back the sheets and climbing in.

"I'm ready!" I called out excitedly.

"Coming sweetie!" Mom replied, and she came up to my room. "Daddy's just looking for your present sweetheart."

"Okay," I said, and she sat on the edge of my bed and leaned over to stroke my hair gently.

"Did you have a good day today?" she asked gently, and I nodded happily.

"Yep. Almost everyone I saw said happy birthday to me! And I love Penny!"

She laughed. "Named her already? You're sweet, darling," she commented, and then Dad called something from downstairs.

"Darlene! I can't find the present!"

Mom sighed. "It's behind the couch, remember?"

"I can't find it!" he called back.

"I'm sorry darling, I'm going to go and find your present and then your father and I will come back up to you, give you the present and then send you off to bed, okay?" I nodded, and she pressed a kiss on my head before heading out of my room.

I waited for a while, and they didn't come back, so I decided to get up and see what they were doing.

I walked through the hallway and down the stairs. I looked around the kitchen and dining room, but it was all pretty quiet, so I walked to the lounge room, and I stopped when I saw what was in there.

There was so much blood everywhere, and Mom and Dad were on the floor, and the whole room was freezing. I covered my mouth with my hand and backed away, and I heard something from upstairs.

Whoever did this was still here.

I didn't dare make a sound and I ran over to the stairs and opened the cupboard under them, hopping in and shutting the door behind me. I was so scared I was shaking, but I didn't know what else to say or do.

My Mom and Dad were dead.

* * *

**A JAR OF SALT**_  
_

_12th of April, 2007_

_Claire Bennet's POV_

That day, I made a discovery. Now, this discovery should have excited me, and it did, but, like many women, I was afraid at the same time. I had finally confirmed that I was, in fact, with child.

My first thought was to ring my husband, West, and tell him all about it, but the rational side of my brain won over and I decided it would be better if I made a nice dinner and told him then. It wasn't a very good idea to tell news as big as this over the phone, and I did really want to see my husbands face when I told him he was going to be a father.

By the time I finally managed to get home from the doctor, he was still at work. It was about 5 in the afternoon, so I decided to set about making that dinner I had planned. I didn't really know what was in the fridge, but seeing as West actually preferred to do the shopping, it was likely to be fully stocked. He did like to cook, and we often took it in turns, although to say that I sometimes cooked dinner was quite laughable, as he would spend his time hovering around the kitchen and watching my every move. Every time he promised he wouldn't speak, yet every time he just had to make one comment about how something should be done...it was annoying, but strangely adorable at the same time.

Eventually, West got home. He seemed pretty tired, but still happy to see me, as I was him.

"Hey love," he greeted as he removed his jacket and hung on the back of one of the stools and tossed his keys, wallet and phone on the bench. He then crossed over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist as I was chopping up some carrot.

"Hi," I replied with a smile. "How was work?"

A slight grimace crossed his face briefly. "Work was...work," he replied cryptically.

"It was hell then?" I guessed, a smirk paying on my lips.

He grinned and pressed a kiss to my temple. "That's my girl!" he exclaimed before letting me go and turning to the stove. He lifted the lid off one of the pots and sniffed the contents before raising a questioning eyebrow at me.

"It's chicken soup," I told him, trying to sound offended, but I sighed and gave up. "Sort of."

He chuckled before I shot a glare in his direction, and he became serious. "It's getting there," he affirmed with a nod. He had learnt long ago to not insult me, but not to give me false compliments either, as I would know. "I'll help you out," he decided aloud, and I gave a heavy sigh.

"You know, chicken soup is supposed to be pretty simple!" I told him obviously, waving my arms around, and he grabbed my right arm.

"Woah! Knife!" he warned with a laugh.

I set my arms down. "I don't need help with everything, you know. I am a good wife, and I can make dinner for my husband whom I love without needing help!"

"Of course you can, but I want to help you because I can too. Besides, I hate watching you struggle in the kitchen," he quipped before quickly jumping out of reach of my knife.

And so, the banter continued, but eventually I relented and allowed him to help me.

He walked over to the cupboard, triumph seeping from every pore, and began to pull out bottles of herbs and setting them on the bench. He frowned and turned back to the cupboard, searching it for a moment before turning back to the bench.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I finished with the carrots and moved on to the bits of toast that had to be cut into squares to act as croutons. I was trying to make it a nice, romantic dinner after all.

"I can't find the salt," he replied, sounding very annoyed.

"Didn't you use the last of it the other night? You said something about getting some more on the way to or from work sometime."

He gave a great sigh. "I did, didn't I?" he asked rhetorically. "I'm gonna have to go and get some," he announced, and I stopped what I was doing and turned to him.

"Really?" I asked, hardly believing my own ears. "You're gonna go out just for a jar of salt? Isn't there some other way to make it flavoursome? We do have every other herb you could think of you know!"

"Well, without salt, chicken soup is just...chicken soup," he told her.

I widened my mouth in shock. "How terrible!" I exclaimed, and he rolled his eyes. "Seriously, West?" I asked, groaning inside and out.

"Look, I'll just go to the store around the corner, quickly get some, and then come straight back," he promised, and I pretended to pout in one last effort to detain him. "You'll hardly miss me!"

I sighed. "Fine!"

He bent down and kissed me gently. "Bye love."

"Bye," I replied, smiling a little, and he turned, grabbed his jacket, wallet and keys and walked out, leaving his phone on the bench. He walked out and shut the door behind him with a resounding thud.

I should never have let him go.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*

Half an hour passed, and I had to take the soup of stove before it overcooked. I didn't really know if that was possible, but I decided that when it came to West and dinner, well, it's always better safe than sorry.

That man and his food...

He really should've been back long ago, but I wasn't really worried about it. He was a friendly person, and he had probably run into someone he knew or something. It did happen often when he was out and about.

A car pulled into the driveway, and I sighed. "Finally," I muttered as I walked through the house and opened the front door as I heard footsteps on the front porch. "You took your ti-" I stopped when I realized that it wasn't West at the door, but Peter, my uncle and best friend. "Peter! It's so good to see you!" I exclaimed, wrapping my arms around him.

"Good to see you too," he replied softly.

"Dinner's almost ready if you want to stay," I invited. "West is just out getting some salt, but he should be back soon and then we can serve it."

"Claire..."

"He thinks chicken soup is near inedible without it," I said with a chuckle. "Trust West to be-"

"Claire!" he interrupted once more, louder this time, so I stopped.

"What?"

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say, and it was then that I took in his appearance. He was very pale, and his eyes, usually a deep, warm brown, were now empty and hollow.

"What's wrong Peter?" I demanded, my heart rate increasing.

"There was an accident," he began, staring at the ground. He gathered some courage and looked me straight in the eye. "I just got back from the hospital."

"What happened? Are you okay? Was anyone hurt? Who...what...?"

"It's not me..." he trailed off, and swallowed deeply before beginning again. "It's West."

My heart froze and my blood ran cold. "Where is he?" I asked, almost whispering. "Is he okay?"

Peter shook his head and laid a gentle hand on my arm. "A drunk hit his car in the parking lot...he was gone before we got there."

"Gone? What do you mean 'gone?" I demanded. "He flew away?"

"Not that kind of gone, Claire," Peter said sadly. "He's...he's..." he stopped, unable to continue.

I shook my head and backed away. "No!" I screamed. "NO!"

* * *

**So, there it is...all the three different happenings for each of the main women in this story, all in one, 6000 word package for you all. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!**

**Oh, and don't you TVD lovers worry...there will be more on that soon, I promise! For now, please just sit tight while I write the next chapter and hopefully upload it soon! **

**-LaLa**


	2. Moving In and Moving On

**Hey guys! So, here is the next chapter...thank you to my first ever reviewer! I adore you, whoever you are, always and forever! :) **

**So this chapter will be mostly in Claire's POV, but I hope it's still enjoyable for all of you. Make sure that if you have any thoughts or suggestions you let me know in the form of a oh-so-lovely review! It's a lot shorter than I would have liked, but I decided to just upload it and then make the next chapter a bit longer for you guys. :) I hope you enjoy it! Also, I apologize for any and all mistakes there are...I haven't had a chance to look over this properly, and I have also stupidly burnt my finer with a hair straightener, so typing is not as easy as it once was. :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but some of the plot and any OCs that pop up here and there. Oh, and Desme, my pretty permanent OC.**

**Also, on an interesting side note, I found a very nice forum that isn't getting much attention, despite it's great potential. :) So if any of you reading this want to check it out it's called 'Vampire Diaries Challenge Forum' by FlyingPigMonkey, and you can basically just go on and you can put up challenges and/or competitions for Vampire Diaries stories, and I am actually working on a one shot for one of the challenges at the moment...so go and check out the forum! :)**

* * *

**CRASH AND BURN**

_The day after West's death_**  
**

_Claire's POV_

The car was a total write off. I was given everything West had on him at the time of the accident in a big plastic bag that I shoved up in the top of the closet in our old bedroom, never wanting to see it again. I had no idea what was in there, but I didn't want to know. I didn't want to go through it, see the clothes that had had blood soaked out of them...I just wasn't going to do it.

I didn't even visit the hospital, as West's body had been shipped straight to the morgue, where he was going to be until the funeral. I had to start making preparations for that, but I didn't exactly feel like it...I was more in the mood for sitting around, thinking about everything that this meant for me...for my baby.

For our baby.

Peter went to fetch all our stuff that was in the car from the wrecker's, and he brought it all to me. He gave me the important stuff, like a pair of keys to the house that had been in the glove box and some mail that had been picked up from the post office at some point in time, but I told him to throw the rest of it out. I didn't want to go through it all, wondering where it had been in the car, what seat it had been shoved under, if it had had blood on it or not...I wasn't going to do that either.

The amount of people that stopped by on a regular basis to check up on me was ridiculous. Peter and Emma, who I didn't really mind, brought meals over daily, and my grandmother, who was still in France on business of some probably illegal sort, called each night to check up on me. Every time she called me, she asked me the same questions, and I gave her the same answers;

_Yes, I am eating._

_No, I haven't left the house yet._

_No, you don't have to come here and look after me._

_Fine, if you really want to._

_No, I don't want a poodle from Paris. _

But not once did she ask my how I was doing, because she knew already. She knew that I was going through hell, and asking how I was going would only remind me of that fact, and then lead to me thinking about why I was going through hell, which would, once more, remind me that I was a widow and a single mother. Not that she knew about that last part yet though. She lost her husband a while back too, even though technically she was the one that killed him, but that is beside the point. there was a sort of silent understanding between the two of us, and it was nice. Comfortable, even. She just made sure I was continuing to live my life, bit by bit, and I assured her that I was. The grieving was mine to do, not hers, and she knew that.

But one night, she said something strange to me. Something that wasn't exactly in our usual script.

"You know, my dear, death is a tyrant. It looms over us, never relenting, never backing down. It is a constant reminder of our fragile mortality, and it tells each and every moment that no matter how hard we try or what we do it will always catch us. But you, Claire, you are free of death itself, yet it holds you in its grasp tighter than ever by forcing you to watch those around you, those whom you love fade away and perish, never to return. All you love shall die and be taken from you, but that doesn't mean that you have to let it take you too. You may not enter death in the conventional sense, but an emotional death is every bit as perilous as a physical one, and is almost as impossible to awaken from. You are pure and perfect, just so long as you remain determined to be so. Do not let death take this from you."

I didn't know how to reply to this. It wasn't exactly a normal, everyday 'I am sorry for your loss'. So, I made some vague reply and promptly ended the conversation.

I stayed in the house until the funeral, which Angela did come to, and even then I didn't stay out for a moment longer than I absolutely had to. I didn't stand up to say a few words for my dead husband, and I certainly didn't stay for the coffee and cupcakes the church was providing afterwards. No amount of people that were sorry for my loss were going to fix this, and I was better off just accepting that and trying to fix it myself. The only problem was, I had no clue how to fix this. I barely spoke two words to anyone the entire time, and Angela remained by my side throughout, almost as though she were a guard dog. I swear I saw her bare her teeth at one or two old ladies that made a beeline for me, the poor, helpless young widow.

I was glad for her protection and help, but it did make me feel vulnerable, which was not a nice addition to the way the funeral made me feel. It made everything so final, so...definite. Like there was no way now that West would drop out of the sky and tell me the whole thing was some big prank, just as I had been hoping he would for a week now.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

A week after the funeral, I finally decided it was time to tell Peter, Emma and Angela about the baby. I didn't even have to schedule a meeting with all three of them, as Angela had been staying in the guest room at my house and Peter and Emma still dropped by every day to check on me, even though I know had Angela watching my every move. It did make me feel smothered, but at the same time, I was thankful for the dedication and care they were showing. It comforted me to know that no matter what happened to me, my baby would always have someone to look after it. Between the many friends and family I had, there would always be some backup godparent there, waiting with open arms, and I knew that all of them would do just fine with my little one.

So, after much thinking about how I was going to give them the news, I finally decided to just sit them all down and do it. I had always hated mind games, and this was to be no exception.

"So," Peter began, once all three of them were in the room, sitting before me. "What's up, C?"

I took a deep breath, readying myself for what was about to be said. Once I had told them, I could never take it back, I could never turn away. It was practically an open invitation for them to smother me and my child for all eternity. "There is something that I think you all need to know. The day West...passed...I had a doctor's appointment, and it was confirmed that I was...um, that I am, pregnant."

There was silence as all three members of my family digested this information.

"You're..." Peter trailed off. "Really?"

I nodded. "Really."

Emma stood slowly, walking forward and sitting beside me on the chair I was on. "Congratulations," she said softly, putting an arm around me gently.

And that was that. I had told them, and they were now going to hover over me more than ever, but somehow I felt that this was what I needed.

Yet despite the fact that I was surrounded by people who loved and cared for me, and were happy to hear the news, one sombre fact remained at the back of all our minds.

My child would never have a father.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

As was inevitable, my father came by to check on me about three months after the funeral.

This would have been nice, under ordinary circumstances. A father going to see his pregnant daughter...just add a little tension between the father of the child and the father of the mother and it was the perfect script for a chick flick. There were just a few problems with this scenario;

1. The father of the child wasn't exactly in any position to be creating tension, especially all the way from the graveyard.

2. I pretty much hate my father's guts.

So, just add a baby bump to this already fragile mix, and things are bound to explode, and it won't be pretty.

When he came by, Angela was out on one of her 'business meetings' (God only knows what sort of business she's up to), and for one I found myself really missing her 'give 'em hell' attitude. She was not a huge fan of my adopted father, and nor was I. It would have been helpful to have her there for support, but unfortunately, she did have her own life separate to me.

I was clearing some old junk out of the cupboard when I heard his car pull in, but I assumed it was just one of my many friends coming to check on me, so I ignored it. They all knew where the spare key was hidden out front anyway. I had it put under the big pot containing flowers that would be dying if it wasn't for Emma's keen eye and love for nature.

I frowned when I heard a knock on the door, as that obviously meant that there was someone here that I didn't expect, which was not something that I liked. Feeling secure had become important to me, and nothing unexpected was supposed to happen.

I made a list of the people it could be in my head as I walked through the house and up to the front door. I pulled the other key out of my pocket and unlocked the door, but regretted doing so when I saw who was behind it.

"Hello Claire Bear," he greeted with a smile, and my blood boiled. How dare he come back and act as though nothing was wrong? Like he wasn't a liar and a murderer?

"Why are you here?" I asked him coolly, trying my best to remain calm. Let's just say my pregnancy hormones weren't exactly a help either.

"I was just in town and I wanted to come by and see how you were doing," he explained as his grey eyes looked me over. I saw the exact moment they landed on my stomach as his eyes widened to an impossible size and veins visibly bulged from his forehead...a look a knew all too well. "You're...um..." he paused, unable to continue. He gulped loudly before managing to continue. "Wow."

I made no effort to welcome him or invite him into the house, and leant against the door frame, glaring at him in a way that I hoped conveyed my feelings.

"How are you?" he asked finally, his eyes still glued to my stomach.

"I am being looked after," I replied simply.

He sighed. "Claire, can I please come in? I just want to talk to my daughter. I miss you, sweetheart."

It took every ounce of self control within me (which wasn't very much at that point in time) to not scoff or make some other rude noise after hearing his words. I didn't reply verbally, but instead turned around and walked back into the house. I left the door open behind me in an attempt to send him a clear message; either come in and face me, or leave and never come back.

Evidently, he still had some illusion of fatherly responsibility (that or he was just bloody insane) as I soon heard the door shut and his jacket land on one of the coat hooks that creak every time you even looked at them.

"Coffee?" I offered him as he walked into the kitchen and seated himself at the bench.

"Ahhh...I'm good, actually. I had one on the way over here," he told me.

"Good," I replied. "All there is is Angela's super strong stuff, and I don't think anyone can drink that and survive. I'm not exactly supposed to be drinking coffee either."

He nodded. "Yes, about that...when were you planning on telling me about the baby?" he asked, and I could practically see the struggle to keep accusation out of his tone.

I shrugged. "I guessed you'd probably hear the baby crying after he or she was born sometime, over the phone when you called me...oh wait, you don't call. Sorry, I forgot," I finished sarcastically. That sentence hadn't ended how I had intended, but it sure gave me an internal giggle.

Damn hormones.

"So...how is Lauren?" I asked, finally breaking the silence. I was surprised to find that I really did care about how his girlfriend was doing. She was a nice person, and a very good fighter too. She had a heart, and I knew that she was good for my father. Well, I hoped so. I did care about him, I just didn't like him very much. But I did like Lauren.

She is doing well," he replied. "Still on my case a lot of the time about working too much, but she wouldn't be herself if she just let it slide, would she?" he asked rhetorically before continuing. "So, how are you going? I heard Angela is staying here with you?" I nodded. "How has that been?"

"It's been...surprisingly nice. I know everyone has this thing about her being a busybody or whatever, but she really does care. I think she gets what I am gong through more than most, and she knows how to convey her feelings in a way that I just find helpful. We have worked things out, and we get along really well."

"I'm glad," he told me sincerely, his grey eyes smiling at my green ones. "I do worry about you, you know," he told me, and continued when I didn't reply. "I know we don't talk much any more, and I am aware that this is mostly my fault, but I do want to rebuild your trust, Claire. You are my daughter, and like it or not, I love you and am not about to just let you walk out of my life."

"I'm not the one that did the walking, Noah. I've been here the whole time," I replied coolly, and I saw him wince when I used his name instead of 'Dad'.

"Look, Claire, I don't like that we have drifted so far apart that you can't event tell me that I am going to be a grandfather!" he said, accusation now dripping off of his tone.

"Well you're not exactly 'father of the year', so I didn't feel there was any reason to give you the opportunity to mess up my child like you messed up me!"

He paled and took a deep breath. "It's so painful Claire...so hard to watch your own child hate you. I do really hope that you never have to know this pain."

I snorted at him. "Trust me. He or she will never have need to hate me. I will not lie to them, nor will I commit horrible crimes while their backs are turned. You tortured, captured and murdered people, some of them innocent, and for over 16 years you kept it from first your wife and then your two children. And even after everything you had done, after the truth came out, you were given a second chance by all of us, and you were expected to take it, but what did you do? You joined NATHAN in capturing people just like me, and then covered up his death!"

"Need I remind you that I was not alone in the cover up of Nathan's tragic end? The other culprit is sleeping on your couch!"

"No, I am. She's in the guest room," I told him matter-of-factly. "And there is a difference in the actions of you and Angela."

"What difference? We did the same thing!" he yelled.

"Yeah, well I expected it from her!" I screamed in reply. "But never from you! How could you go that far? How could you do that to me? You broke our family apart, Noah."

"Hey, I was not the one that decided to apply for a divorce. That was your mother! She kicked me out and then cut me out for good and replaced me with that idiot of a boyfriend!"

"Fiance," I corrected, practically hissing at him. "And you left her no choice. Maybe, just maybe, if you trusted us all enough to let us make decisions together...but you didn't. You destroyed our family, Noah. You."

There was silence as he mulled over my words. "I'm so sorry, Claire. I didn't know you felt that way."

"What other way am I supposed to feel? 'Yay Daddy! You made Mommy cry and brought nothing but pain to us! Thank you!'" I said in a sarcastic voice.

"I'm sorry," he replied lamely.

"Well I don't think sorry is going to cut it this time," I spat in reply.

"Claire, I'm back!" a voice called out, and I was surprisingly relieved to hear it was Angela. "Where are you dear?"

"The kitchen," I replied, and I heard the clicking of her heels as she walked through the hall. He fitted, woollen coat was halfway off by the time she walked into the room.

Her eyes landed on Noah and her eyebrows hit her hairline in a way I knew all too well. "I thought I smelt something rotten," she hissed at Noah, throwing her jacket onto the counter with a great amount of dignity and grace.

"It's nice to see you too, Angela," he spat back.

"Skip the small talk, Noah. What do you want?"

He looked offended at her tone. "Is it not enough for me to just want to see my daughter?" he asked incredulously.

She placed her hands on her hips. "Considering you're not her real father, I think not." I almost found myself feeling sorry for him as my grandmother unleashed her fury. "Perhaps it would be best for you to leave and not return for a VERY long time, Noah."

"Angela," Noah began. "This is not your home. I came to see my daughter, not you."

"You did not speak one word to her for the entire funeral, and as soon as it ended you left and went back to your pitiful little life with that girlfriend of yours, leaving your daughter without your care and support during the hardest time of her life! She needed everyone possible to help her get through it, but you didn't care, did you?"

"Of course I cared! She's my daughter and I love her!" he exclaimed.

"Then where the hell were you?" Angela yelled, her ice blue eyes boring into him. "You were never there for her when she needed it, so why are you here now?" she asked, her voice full of suspicion.

"I was hoping that she may be able to forgive me now," he replied with a sigh. "I know I have wronged her in the past, but I was hoping that she may be able to move past all that now. I see that I was wrong."

"Good," Angela said, a joyless smile on her face. "Get out."

"Claire," he began, turning to me. "I just want to be your father again."

I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. "If my child cannot have a father, why should I?"

Angela saw the tears in my eyes and decided to take over once more. "I think it's time for you to leave, Noah," she told him, her voice leaving no room for discussion.

He stood slowly and nodded. "I understand. If you ever need me, Claire, I am just a phone call away."

I didn't reply as he walked out, fetched his jacket and left.

It was the last I would see of my adopted father for a very long time.

*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

Two months passed, and I was well and truly into the third trimester of my pregnancy, and had the stomach to show for it. I had managed to avoid most of the aches and cramps thanks to my ability, but there are some things that being super human just can't fix. The cravings, for example. Marmite and banana on bread became a huge favourite of mine every other week, but I couldn't stand the sight or smell of flowers. Angela had caught me with my dress dangerously close to trash can, and took it off me, hiding it somewhere in her room. She told me that I would thank her for it eventually, but I wasn't so sure.

Clothes were a huge problem, seeing as I had become a hermit of sorts. Angela liked to go out and buy me clothes, but she and I didn't exactly see eye to eye when it came to fashion.

Angela had tried to get me out of the house as much as possible, but all I wanted to do was stay home and clean. The kitchen where West had tried to teach me to cook had to remain spotless, as did the lounge room where we had snuggled up for an old, classic movie every Saturday night instead of going out and getting drunk, seeing as that wasn't really our thing.

One day, when I was nearly eight months pregnant, I 'mysteriously' found a flyer for a local private school on the kitchen counter. Of course, Angela had no idea how it had gotten there, but seemed very interested in schooling nonetheless. Of course, I just couldn't resist the opportunity to make a sarcastic comment.

"I suppose we should start looking at Princeton then?" I suggested sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

Angela turned and looked at me, dead serious. "Don't you think that's a little premature, dear?"

I do think she was messing with me a bit there, but then again, she wasn't exactly the queen of wit.

However, many private schools all over the state seemed to be taking a certain interest in my unborn child, as flyers from their schools seemed to be appearing all over the place. The laundry, the lounge room, the cupboards...still, Angela had 'no clue' what was going on.

Yeah right.

* * *

**So, there it is! Please leave me a review and let me know what you think! Also, it will be a while until I get to the whole TVD part, but I hope you all can stick with me until then. :)**


	3. Crash and Burn

**Here is the second official chapter for you all. Hope you like it! Please leave a review to let me know what you thought! :) I know it's short, but please bear with me while I get this story rolling...**_  
_

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the plot and some of the characters.**

* * *

_Molly's POV_

We were sitting at dinner when it happened. Janice gasped, and Matt went very pale. Little Matty had no idea what was going on, but was a very good guesser.

"Is it the baby, Mommy?" he asked, his brown eyes wide.

"Yes, Matty. It's the baby," Janice replied breathily, clutching her stomach.

Matt dropped his cutlery and crossed over to his wife, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Are you okay?"

"You might want to get my bag," she told him, referring to the overnight bag she had packed for the hospital.

Matt shot me a look, so I stood and ran through the house and into their room, throwing the door open and grabbing the bag from the foot of the bed. I then ran back to them, and Matt was standing Janice up, helping her balance on shaky legs. I spotted the wet patch, and understood what was happening.

This wasn't a false alarm.

I pulled the bag strap onto my shoulder and grabbed Matty's hand. "Come on, Matty. We're gonna go to the car and get you strapped into your seat."

I took him outside, while Matt lifted Janice and followed us out. The car lights flashed as he unlocked it with the key and helped Janice into the front passenger seat. I strapped Matty into his seat before sitting in my own.

"Are we going to the hopsital?" Matty asked me, and I smiled at him as the car pulled out of the driveway and onto the street.

"Yes, Matty, we're going to the 'hopsital'," I replied with a chuckle.

"But dinner will get cold!" he exclaimed, obviously very concerned about the meatloaf still sitting on the table.

"We'll reheat it, Matty," I assured him.

"But the flies will get on it!"

I laughed. "Flies don't like meatloaf, buddy."

He frowned at me. "Really? Is that really true?"

"Yes, bud. It's true," I told him, glancing up at Matt and Janice. Matt had his hand on his wife's knee, rubbing slow circles, trying to keep her calm.

The car suddenly accelerated to a speed much more than was legal, and I saw Janice turn to Matt.

"Honey, it's okay. The hospital isn't too far," she told him, and he shook his head.

"That's not it," he said softly, and I picked up the fear in his voice.

"What's da matter?" Matty asked, seeing my frown.

"Nothing, buddy," I replied, trying to be as calm as possible, even though something was obviously very wrong. Matt was a very calm person these days, especially around Janice, Matty and I. I looked onto the floor of the car and saw some pieces of lego. I bent down and picked them up, giving Matty a smile. "Look what I found!" I exclaimed, handing them to him.

He took them in his chubby, five year old hands and started piecing them together, oblivious to what was going on around him.

"Ooooowwww!" Janice groaned, clutching her stomach.

"Just breathe, love," Matt told her calmingly.

"Matt!" Janice said warningly.

"You're going to be okay, Jan. It's alright," he said soothingly.

"No, Matt, look! MATT! WATCH OU-"

Everything slowed down. The first thing I heard was a sickening crunch, and then the whole car shuddered, forcing me forwards against my seat belt. Glass flew through the air as thee windscreen was smashed, and pieces whipped past my face, gauging marks into it.

Blinding pain filled my right eye, and I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

* * *

_Claire's POV_

A small smile crept onto my face as I felt a slight kick in my stomach. I placed my hand on the underside of my belly, and was soon met with another kick. Honestly, I could've sat all day in that car, hands on my stomach, spending time with my unborn child.

But alas, it was not supposed to be, as Angela soon hopped into the car once more, sitting beside me.

"The private plane is ready now. We just have to drive for a little bit," she told me. "Andrew, drive us closer please," she requested, and the car soon began to drive.

Angela sighed and leant back into her seat. "How are you feeling?" she asked me after a brief moment of silence.

"I am all right, I suppose. A little sore and not too thrilled about this trip, but I guess I'll be fine," I replied, and Angela nodded.

"I wouldn't have insisted upon it if it wasn't absolutely necessary," she told me sadly. "Two pregnant specials have gone missing so far this year, and I would never take that chance with you. I am aware that flying in your third trimester isn't a fabulous idea, but I think you can cope with it."

I nodded. "I understand, but why do you think those women have gone missing? I haven't exactly wanted to be in the loop for a while, but I think that this involves me and I want to know."

Angela bit her lip. "It is a rather complicated mess, but you have nothing to worry about. You and the baby will be perfectly safe, I guarantee that. Besides, we get to go to France for a little holiday on the side of all of this, so you just focus on getting a tan and I'll take care of the rest, alright?"

"I want to know, Angela," I told her firmly, but the car came to a stop.

"We are there, Mrs Petrelli," Andrew informed my grandmother, and a look of relief flashed across Angela's face as she was able to skip this conversation this time round.

"Well, let's get on board then! We haven't a moment to waste," she told me with a smile, and Andrew hopped out of the car and opened my door for me, helping me out. He had been working for Angela for some years, and was a very loyal servant that never asked any questions. He was also very careful with me, and for that I was glad.

We boarded the plan as some men loaded our baggage, and we were directed to a nice, spacious area to sit ourselves. Angela was given a martini, and I an apple juice, as per usual. It had become a particular favorite of mine, and seeing as there was no way I would be able to have any form of alcohol for a while, it was as good as things were going to get.

"So," I began, turning to Angela once we were alone. "You were about to tell me about these disappearances?"

Angela sighed. "Claire, you really don't have anything to worry about, dear."

"We are leaving for France, Angela, and I am eight months pregnant. There are countless things that could go wrong with this, yet I am taking a risk anyway, because you told me it was necessary, and I want to trust you. But I need to know what is going on, Angela. I have to."

"It is not that big of a deal, just a precaution," she assured me. "Two women with special abilities went missing in the last month of their pregnancy, and then showed up somewhere months later with no memory of what had happened, and no child with them. Some people are concerned, others not so much. The bottom line is, there is a slight chance that whoever took those women will try and take you, but I highly doubt it seeing as the protection around you is spectacular, and they would have to be aware that you are travelling with someone who had dreams of the future and will therefore be able to predict that they are coming, and stop them from harming you."

I rested my hands on my stomach once more. "Are you sure everything is going to be okay?" I asked her softly, staring off into space.

"I am sure, Claire," she replied firmly, placing one of her hands on my elbow. I turned to her and saw a gentleness in her usual stern and cold eyes.

"Okay," I said finally, nodding slowly. "I just...if I lost this baby, I don't know what I would do."

"Well, you won't ever have to find out. You and my grandchild will both be fine, I swear it," she swore, and I gave her a thankful smile.

There was a tap at the door, and Angela turned to face it.

"Come in," she called, and the door opened to reveal Andrew standing there.

"I am sorry, Mrs Petrelli, Mrs Rosen, but we will have to stop halfway to refuel. The captain wanted you to be aware of this," he told them, and Angela nodded.

"Thank you Andrew," she said, smiling, and the man nodded before closing the door, leaving us alone again.

* * *

_Molly's POV_

I was floating.

It was strange, almost like I was in water. So light and wonderful, I felt weightless. Perfect. I could feel my hair drifting all around the place, teasing the back of my neck and wafting over my nose.

It was like being in paradise.

But then I woke up, and I was anywhere but paradise.

I opened my eyes, and the whole world around me seemed to be made of one, blinding light. I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut, but the damage had already been done and a throbbing headache made it's way to two spots behind my eyes.

"Molly?" someone said. You know how people sound when you're underwater? That's exactly what this sounded like.

I groaned again, louder this time, and a hand was placed on my arm.

"Molly!" the voice repeated, louder this time, and it was then that I recognized the rich accent.

"Mohinder," I mumbled, but I came out more like 'Minder', and I heard laughing.

"Hey Molly. Open your eyes," he told me. "I know it hurts, but you need to wake up now."

I slowly opened my eyes, and saw him looking down at me with a gentle smile on his face. I tried to say more, bur my very dry throat didn't want to cooperate.

"Here," Mohinder offered, picking up a foam cup from the table beside the hospital bed I was in.

Wait, _hospital bed_?

My eyes widened and I tried to sit up and get a better look of my surroundings, but Mohinder gently grabbed my arms, holding me down.

"It's okay, Molly. Just drink, and everything will be explained. You're okay, I promise," he said, his tone soothing, and I relaxed instantly.

He lifted the water to my lips and I began to drink, the water cooling my throat. He put the cup back on the table, and I looked up at him in confusion.

"What happened?" I asked finally, and he looked at me gravely.

"There was an accident," he began, and I could see tears in his eyes. He swallowed loudly, trying to get past the lump that had formed in his throat. "The car hit yours on the front right corner, and Janice and the baby were crushed. Matt is all right, but little Matty is in surgery."

I tried to form words, but all that came out was a string of unintelligible gasps.

"I'm so sorry, Molly," he said, kneeling by my bed and taking my hand. "I know it is horrible, but you're going to be okay, I promise. You are going to be fine."

My chest suddenly felt tight, and the room began to spin.

"Molly! Hey, take deep breaths," Mohinder commanded. "Molly! Come on sweetheart, you need to breathe for me."

But I couldn't do it, and soon everything was black again.

* * *

_Claire's POV_

The flight was a little bumpier than usual, and even Angela, who had flown all over the place before, looked a little green in the face by the time we landed for refuelling. I did suggest that we go outside for some air, but she insisted that she was fine, so I let it go.

We had been on the ground for only ten minutes when I suddenly became very aware that my unborn child had decided to try out kick boxing on my bladder, and that I needed to relieve myself badly. I excused myself from Angela, who was writing a report for something or other, and went to the bathrooms which were a few cabins away.

I relieved myself, and as I washed my hands I noticed a bit of dirt under the fingernail of the thumb on my left hand, and, thanks to my newly developed pursuit for perfection, had to stop and get it out. It was a stubborn little bastard, as it took at least five minutes to get out of there and wash down the sink.

I turned away from the sink and was about to open the door when a loud bang erupted from some unknown place, loud enough to deafen an ordinary human, and the entire plane shook. My back hit the wall and me hands instantly made their way to my stomach, as though they could protect it from the chaos that had broken out around me. Blood trickled from my ears and down the sides of my face, and for a moment I was incredibly disoriented.

There was a slight silence, before my still healing ears picked up an all too familiar sound that sent shivers up my spine and clutched at my heart like ice, which I suppose was ironic considering what it was.

Fire.

I stood on shaky legs and reached for the door handle, but a second explosion rocked the plane and I was reacquainted with my good friend the wall once more. I could feel the baby kicking furiously, and my heart was beating so hard it nearly leapt out of my chest.

The stench of smoke reached my nose, and I knew I had to get out of there. Well, if it hadn't been obviously before, it was now.

I weighed my options for escape, one step at a time. I didn't know how close the fire was to the door, and even if I was able to get one of the panels on the roof loose, I would never be able to fit through it. Well, maybe this time last year, but my stomach was a bit of a problem at the moment.

So, I came to the conclusion that the door was the only sensible option, and, taking one final breath of the semi clean air in the room, kicked the door open.

Smoke filled the room almost instantly, billowing around me like stirred up dust. The sound of the crackling fire was deafening, and my eyes watered. I shoved the door shut once more, feeling unprepared and foolish. I crouched on the ground, hoping to avoid a majority of the smoke and thought for a moment. What did I have at my disposal that could help me get out of there alive? I bit my lip hard, drawing blood, as I tried to get my brain into McGuyver mode, and eventually asked myself the one question I had sworn I would never ask myself.

What do they do in the movies?

Taking a deep sigh and then choking on it, I took off my jacket, ripping it into pieces as fast as I could. I stood shakily and turned on the tap, soaking the cloth with water. I then wrapped it around my head, covering even my eyes, desperately hoping that it would keep the smoke out of my nose and mouth as much as possible, for the sake of the baby.

I then realized that I was completely blind, but it didn't matter any more. I found the handle and turned it, throwing myself out into the hall and running my hands along the walls, trying to determine what direction the fire was in. I took a few steps in one direction, and found the crackling got louder and the waves of heat hotter, and so I did a u-turn and moved as fast as I could in the other direction. I held my hands in front of me, feeling for doors, and I opened them in front of me and slammed them shut behind me, foolishly hoping that they would somehow hinder the fire as it raced through the plane.

Eventually, the smoke thinned out a little, and I pulled the cloth down from my eyes, but kept it over my mouth. I could see somewhat clearly still, but this didn't help me escape what happened next.

Hands grabbed me from somewhere undetermined, and there was a sharp prick at the side of my neck. The next thing I knew I was on the floor, and a face swam before my eyes.

And then everything went black.

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**So, there it is! PLEASE leave a review! This story has gotten a good amount of hits, but only two reviews! Please let me know what you thought, I would be eternally grateful! :)**


	4. Letting Go

**So, here is the third chapter for y'all! I hope you enjoyed the last one. :) Please, please, PLEASE review! Thanks. **

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but some of the plot, Desme and any other OCs you encounter on this literary journey of an emotional** **intensity.**

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_Desme's POV_

Two years passed after the night I killed my husband, and to say I was in a bad place would be an incredible understatement. The Darkness had overtaken me at least three times over those two, hard years, and I was basically living on the street. If I was lucky, I could get enough money from working the odd job as a waitress at some sleazy bar to pay for some disgusting motel for the night, but this became a rarer and rarer thing. It was a hard life, but I never regretted it, not once. I felt that I deserved all the pain I could get for letting my emotions get the better of me, thus resulting in the death of my own husband, the love of my life. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing a person got over, not even after two years.

I dropped by my old town to check in on my children often, but I never once approached them. I wouldn't dare do that to them, marching in on their lives and messing up what little stability they had managed to build. William had taken his sister to their Aunt Mae's house. Mae was their father's little sister, and she had no children of her own, and she and her husband were more than happy to take in their niece and nephew, and were raising the two as though they were their own. My heart broke to know that I would never again be a part of my children's lives, but it was necessary, and I could never let myself go to them.

Self discipline was an important part of getting by for me, as I had to make sure I kept up my own standards. I would not steal, nor would I hurt anyone in my constant battle for food and shelter. It just wasn't going to happen. I had killed enough people already.

And so, I continued to struggle with life in general, and soon I spent almost all my time on the streets. I had only two sets of clothes, neither of which had been washed for months.

Two years and three months exactly from that fateful day, fortune seemed to shine upon me as I was finally given a semi-permanent job as a waitress at a bar, and though the shifts were often and very long, I still held the hope that I would be able to get other jobs in and around the small town I was in at that time.

After three weeks of working there, I was able to commit to renting a very small, crappy apartment, which was a huge step for me. It was a terrible place, with peeling paint and a mouldy bathroom, but it was good enough. There was a roof over my head, though it was not very stable. It would take me an hour to walk to work each morning, which was something I wasn't impressed with, and seeign as I left in daylight I couldn't use my speed to get there as there were too many people around that could see me.

I got to know some of the other girls that worked at the bar, and soon became friends with them. Sort of. It was hard to get close to people considering the amount of emotional baggage I carried everywhere with me, but it as nice to have some interaction with people that was slightly positive, even if it was under the stress of working at a popular bar that most of locals frequented on at least a weekly basis.

One week, something happened that changed things for me drastically. Not quite as drastically as I would have hoped, but it was enough to change things for the better.

I was working a normal night shift at the bar, serving alcohol to crazy drunks that hit on me more often than they breathed. However, there was one man in the bar on this particular night that was different to all of them. He was dressed in a black trench coat, and his hair was brushed neatly. He stood with his back impeccably straight, and his every move seemed almost regal.

He sat down at a table in the far corner, and Marla, my fellow barmaid who was in her mid to late thirties, gave me a sly look.

"Seeing as I am trying to reinvent myself, I will let you take the only half decent man in this entire establishment," she told me jokingly. "But on any other night I wouldn't. However, I have decided that in order to be a happy person, I must first make others around me happy through the decisions I make."

I sighed. "Mar, you don't have to," I told her. "I really don't mind. I can handle the regular drunks."

"Nope," she said firmly, shaking her head with a smirk. "I am married, Des. You are not. Your entire life is your work, so I figure, why not try and set you up with the only decent character you will meet?"

"He could be an ass," I reasoned.

"Well, go and find out," she ordered, picking up some drinks from the counter and carrying them over to the customers who had ordered them.

I sighed, picked up my notebook and pencil and walked over to the table where the strange man was sitting.

"Hi," I greeted. "What can I get you?"

He looked up at me and gave a charming smile. "I am famished, but I am not a local, so I am afraid that I do not know what sorts of foods are served here. What would you recommend?"

I returned his smile, instantly intrigued at his rather formal British accent. "Well, we got a new cook last week, and he is fabulous at making salads," I told him, and he nodded.

"What salads do you have?" he asked.

"I think that tonight the two on special are the tossed salad with walnuts and the Caesar Salad," I informed him, and he nodded.

"Which one is your favourite?" he asked, his blue-grey eyes twinkling, but I was not falling for his charms. I did, however, appreciate the lack of alcoholic stench on him, and his ability to put together an entire sentence. It was nice, for a change.

"I don't eat the food from here often," I told him, and he raised his eyebrows. "Not because it isn't good," I assured him quickly. "I just don't have the money."

He nodded with understanding. "These are not easy times," he agreed. "I will take the Caesar then."

I smiled and wrote it down quickly. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Just water, thanks," he told me, and I failed to hide the look of surprise on my face. "Is that such a terrible choice?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "It's just that serving a non-alcoholic drink is a rare thing around here."

He eyed the various groups of drunken men around the room. "I see what you mean."

I gave him one final smile. "Well, I'll be back in a bit with your order, so just sit tight."

With that, I walked away, happy with the exchange. He had seemed nice, and I appreciated to have someone to serve that wasn't a slobbering mess.

I walked behind the bar and ripped the page out of my notebook, leaning over and placing it on the counter between the bar and the kitchen. I leaned in and called out to the cook, Allan.

"One Caesar, please!"

"Sure, coming up!" came the reply, and I turned away to get the water for the gentleman.

Marla was mixing a drink behind the bar as well, and she turned to me, whispering quietly.

"What is he like?" she asked, obviously interested.

"British," I replied, summing him up in one word.

Her eyes widened. "Really? It's mostly rednecks 'round here. He's obviously not planning on staying too long."

I frowned as I filled the glass with tap water. "And how do you figure that?"

"Well, he's...different. Not like anyone around here. Besides, what would he do for a job? I mean, what is there for him to do? All the positions at the banks and real estate places are taken as far as I know, and I couldn't see him working as a maintenance man or a janitor like most of the others."

"Well maybe he doesn't need to get a job," I told her. "He could have some money in store or something."

"Well, if he's got money, then why on earth would he choose to spend it here?" she reasoned, and I nodded.

"You're right," I finally agreed. "I just thought it might be nice to have someone like him around here. It would be a nice change I suppose."

"Of course it would," Marla agreed.

"The salad's ready!" Allan called, and the plate was dumped on the bench.

"Thanks Al," I replied, picking up the plate and putting it on a tray, along with the glass of water. I gave Marla one last glance before walking away. I managed to get halfway to the table when one of the regular drunks stood in my way.

"Excuse me, sir," I said politely, trying to not gag on the stench of alcohol his breath projected upon me. In that moment, there was nothing I wanted to do more than to throw him across the room, but I did need the job, so I restrained myself.

"And what's a luvverly lady like you doin' in a place like this?" he slurred, and I gave him a small smile.

"I am trying to bring a drink a salad to the gentleman in the corner," I replied calmly. "Excuse me please."

By this time, most of the people in the bar had noticed that there was something going on, and had looked over to see if there was anything interesting about the situation.

"Come on, darlin'," he drawled, his breath making my skin crawl. "Just hang around us for a little bit.

I looked over to the man I was supposed to be getting the drink to, and he looked as though he was about to stand. "Please let me though, sir."

He laughed raucously. "D'you 'ear that boys?" he asked his friends. "The lass called me sir!"

I moved to walked around him, but he moved to match my step, looking at me with mischief in his gaze.

I looked over and saw the stranger coming closer, a frown on his face. He placed a hand on the drunk's shoulder, and made him face him.

"You will leave this woman alone," he ordered, looking deep into the drunk's eyes.

And just like that, the previously rowdy and uncontrollable man turned and sat down at the table with his confused looking friends.

My jaw dropped and I looked at the stranger, not believing what had just happened. He gave me a knowing smile, and managed to shut my mouth before any flies decided to fly down my throat. He turned to walk back to his table, and I followed him.

I put his salad and water before him when he sat down, and I still looked at him with amazement.

"How did you do that?" I asked eventually. "I've been trying to get them to cooperate for months!"

He gave me another charming smile. "It takes a lot of practice, but after a while, it becomes easier."

I nodded. "Well, you'll have to show me how to do that. It would make my job a whole lot easier. I could physically make them move, but that would get me fired and I need this job."

"Well, I am afraid it is a skill that generally takes centuries to hone, and I am not planning on being in town for that long."

I chuckled. "Well, how long are you planning on staying in town for?" I asked curiously, not believing what I was saying. I wasn't usually a very chatty person, but there was something about him...

"A while," he replied enigmatically, give me a cheeky glance.

I nodded and gave him one, final smile. "Well then, I guess I'll be seeing you around. Probably not in here though, especially after all the drunks and stuff."

"Well, the customers may not be remarkable, but that does not mean the service is not impeccable," he said, and I though I caught a hint of something strange in his voice...something I hadn't heard in a while...

"Well, have a good night," I said before walking away.

"You too," he called after me.

I took a deep breath and ignored the knowing glances Marla was sending my way, and instead focused on doing my job.

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Over the years, I made sure I kept track of my children. I loved them dearly, though it broke my heart that I could no longer be a part of either of their lives.

William had taken his younger sister to his Aunt Mae's house, which wasn't too far from their own. Mae was my husbands younger sister, and she herself had been unable to have children, so she was happy to take in the two distraught children.

And so, I had taken all the money in their old house and run away, living in rotten motel rooms, and eventually on the street. I had never had to get a job previously, as my husband had been the one to provide for the household, and so I then had no skills and was unable to help myself in any way. The occasional job as a waitress just wasn't enough to live off, and it was so hard.

Every now and then, I would return to my old town and stand on the street, looking in through the window of my sister-in-laws home, seeing my own children sit down and eat with their Aunt and Uncle. It broke my heart all over again each time, but somehow I just couldn't help it.

Little Darlie grew to be a beautiful young woman with a sweet heart. When she was twenty three, she met a young man by the name of James, and five years later, they were married. I had even been in the church when they were wed, holding back tears at the sight of my daughter in a beautiful white dress, holding hands with the man she loved. Her brother and uncle had walked her down the isle, and the whole affair was so beautiful I longed to be openly a part of it. To be able to hold her daughter on her wedding day...but it was not to be so. I would never again hold her daughter, and it was a fact I had to accept.

I snuck out of the church just as I had snuck in, and that was that.

Bill, on the other hand, didn't have the fairytale that his younger sister did. He had never told Darlie about what had happened that day, but only that someone got into their house and killed their parents. It was better for her to think that he mother was dead than to know the truth, after all.

He had fallen in love at a young age, just like his sister, but it had ended in tragedy. He had fallen in love with a beautiful young woman by the name of Kate, and they had married. However, Kate had been murdered in their home by a robber, and poor Bill had witnessed it all.

After that, he wandered, broken hearted and completely lost. He was eventually recruited into a Company that I tried to find out more about, but failed miserably. All I knew was that they were bad news, and were interested in controlling my son's life. But there was nothing I could do about it.

They had his named changed from William Forbes to Noah Bennet, and had him marry a woman by the name of Sandra. Once more, I snuck into the church and watched my son marry for the second time. Darlie wasn't there, as Bill, now Noah, had been forced to cut her out of his life when he changed his name, and for all intents and purposes became a whole new person, leaving behind the horrors of his previous life.

Sandra, unfortunately, had been unable to have children, but one day 'Noah' had brought home a baby girl named Claire, and they adopted her as their own. Sandra had been to overjoyed to ask her husband questions about the origin of the child, but I looked into it. As it turned out, the baby had been rescued from a fire in a home where her mother had burned to death, and Noah had been offered the child to adopt and raise as his own. The details surrounding said adoption were quite hazy, and I eventually gave up on trying to make sense of them.

Five years later, Sandra fell pregnant, much to the surprise of her husband and herself, and then gave birth to ahealthy baby boy, naming him Lyle. Noah had suggested William as a middle name, and Sandra had loved it, and so the baby boy was named Lyle William Bennet, which honestly made me cry every time I thought about it. My heart filled with pride to know that after everything that had happened, my son was ensuring that the name of his father was carried on, even though he himself had abandoned it.

Soon after Lyle was born, Noah and Sandra had had a huge fight, ending in Noah being kicked out of the house. Claire and Lyle were both far too young to understand what was happening, and Noah was gone for just under a year, in which time he had been posted in a small town by the name of Mystic falls. He had taken back his former name, for the purpose of the job, and I drifted in and out of the town, checking around to see what my son was up to.

Apparently, Sandra had been so angry she had filed for a divorce, and Noah accepted this and moved on. He met a young woman in Mystic Falls called Elizabeth, and in a rush of desperation, married one another. At first, all was well, but Noah eventually came to realize that he was simply using his new wife for a rebound from the Sandra and all that had occurred with her, and so he told Liz and they soon became divorced, but not before Liz discovered that she was pregnant.

Bill left anyway, planning on visiting occasionally to see his daughter. He once more claimed the alias 'Noah Bennet', and returned to Sandra, finding her still single and struggling with two children as Claire was beginning school and Lyle was a troublesome baby. A few couples counselling sessions later, they remarried in a small ceremony and once more resumed being a family.

Liz gave birth soon after, having a baby girl. She named her Caroline Forbes, still choosing to keep the name of her ex-husband. She struggled at first to raise her daughter, and searched for a nanny to help her. The moment I heard this, I rushed to Mystic Falls and applied for the job, but a more experienced and local woman was chosen over me. I accepted the loss, though I had been so excited at the chance to be involved in my own granddaughter's life.

Two years after Caroline was born, Darlene gave birth to a girl, naming her Molly. She and James were overjoyed, and they pampered the little girl so much.

Eight years later, Claire, my adopted granddaughter, whom I had been watching closely, went through a traumatic experience at her high school. She witnessed an old friend being murdered, and would have been killed also if it wasn't for a man that showed up and helped her. I rushed to Texas the moment I heard, and managed to impersonate a police officer and go in to see my granddaughter, where I managed to make sure she was okay.

But there was something off about the whole thing.

Jacqueline, the girl who was killed had had the top half of her head sawed off, and she was obviously dead. The blood of Claire and Peter, the man who saved her, were all over the crime scene, yet neither of them had a single injury on them. This concerned me greatly, as I myself had the ability to heal from wounds, and if they did too, then it was a possibility that they were also plagued by the same darkness as I. Perhaps Claire had even been the one to kill Jacqueline? Ripping the head off of someone was something I did often when I was under the influence of The Darkness, which was not such a rare occurrence any more.

However, I had a look at the file for the incident, and found pictures of the girl, and there was a clean, straight line straight through her forehead, which would not be so if someone had killed her under The Darkness. If Claire did have the same thing after her as I did, she would never have the patience to hack a straight line into someone.

But otherwise, how as it possible that she was fine?

It was all very confusing, and I eventually had to give up on trying to work it all out as the police dropped the case and everyone seemed to move on. Claire seemed to have recovered from it, mostly anyway, and I accepted this and was happy to move on once assured that my family was okay.

However, I was soon worried out of my mind once more when tragedy struck the lives Darlene, her husband, and her now eight year old daughter.

Darlene and James were found in their home, the tops of their heads cut off, just as Jacqueline's had been.

I was all over it at once, concerned for the safety of my granddaughter above all else. The death of my daughter was a crushing blow, but the knowledge that my granddaughter could be in danger overcame all grief I felt, and I instantly went to her. She was small and sweet, much like her mother had been at her age, and I fell in love with her big, brown eyes almost instantly.

I discovered that she had witnessed the killing of her parents, and I once more impersonated a police officer and tried to find out more about what had happened, but once more I failed miserably.

There was, of course, a certain system when it came to caring for orphans that had to be followed, and so there was no guarantee that I would be able to gain guardianship of Molly. I wanted to desperately, but I could hardly pull out documents proving that I was her grandmother, especially when I looked to be the same age as her mother had been when she was killed.

And so, I let it go. I knew that growing up in foster care would not be ideal for Molly, and would be difficult, but there wasn't really anything I could do about it.

I seemed to be having to give up on things regularly, especially when it came to my family. It was hard, but I did it because I had to. Because they were my family, and I loved them all dearly, whether I had met them or not. I finally came to the conclusion that I would have to give up on keeping them happy, as in the collapsing world, this was an impossible task. They, like all other humans, would have to go through life in an ordinary way, sometimes happy, sometimes not. The most I could do was try to keep them all alive, and try and find out what the hell was going on with the man who killed Molly's parents and Claire's friend.

Then, after years of researching, I finally found the truth, and it wasn't pretty.

I found out about everything. The people with abilities, the vampires in the town where Caroline and Liz where, everything. I found Claire's real parents, and I must say I wasn't really thrilled for her. A politician and a trailer park girl weren't exactly what Claire would have been hoping for.

I found out about everything that my son had done and kept from his family, and how he had done so much against the people just like his daughter. I was so horrified at all that he had done, yet I was proud of him for his strength.

And so, as I was doing so often, I just let it go.

But after I paid my son a little visit that was way overdue.

He was working a job, and was staying in a small motel. I went in secretly after his partner, a Haitian man that never seemed to speak, left to get them coffee. I wasn't really sure how he was going to order it, but that was his problem, not mine.

I knocked on the door, after almost ten minutes of nervous contemplation.

I heard the door being unlocked, and then it slowly swung open to reveal the spitting image of my husband.

I swear I almost fainted. His grey eyes, his jaw...his everything.

"Can I help you?" he asked suspiciously, and he looked me over several times as though trying to understand where he knew me from.

And before I knew what I was saying or doing, the words all but leapt from my mouth.

"Hi, Billy Boy."

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**So...two chapters in one night! Yes, it was hard, but I have done it! **

**So, leave a review and let me know what you think! It means the world to me to hear your thoughts!**


	5. Confrontation

**So here is a little more for you all! I am really sorry it is so short, I tried to lengthen it as much as possible but it is no easy task and what I have planned next is going to take a while, so I wanted to get something out to y'all. Enjoy! :)**

**Also, you can all thank the speed of updates to my lovely beta, Oracle85, who I would not be able to cope without! :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but some of the plot and any OCs. **

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_"Can I help you?" he asked suspiciously, and he looked me over several times as though trying to understand where he knew me from._

_And before I knew what I was saying or doing, the words all but leapt from my mouth._

_"Hi, Billy Boy." _

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His eyes widened as he recognized me, and I immediately saw him go to slam the door shut in my face, and I completely understood this.

"Wait!" I commanded. "Please, Billy, I need to talk to you."

He glared at me. "I don't know who or what you are, but you are not my mother."

"Yes I am," I replied. "I know it is hard to believe, but I am here and I love you and I need to talk to you!"

"No!" he replied. "I have built a life and moved on. You are not a part of my life, and you never will be again."

"Billy," I begged.

"No!" he replied, and I stood to my full height, a fire in my eyes.

"I am your mother, no matter how much you deny it. I am your mother and I am here to speak with you, and you will open that door and let me in because I don't think you want the things I have to say be overheard."

He froze, and I took the opportunity to walk past him and into the motel. He shut the door, and whirled to face me.

"What do you want?" he hissed. "How are you even still here? Like that? If you were still alive, you'd be in a home right now."

I shook my head. "Your Claire is not the only immortal, you know."

His face grew red in an instant. "Don't you _dare _compare yourself to my daughter!"

I looked at him coolly. "But she's not your daughter, is she?" He looked at me, surprised. "Yes, I know about all of it. I even know who her real parents are, and where they are. I have been looking out for you and your children for longer than you would be comfortable with, William. I stayed away because I wanted to give you space, and I didn't want to confront you like this, but I have had enough of you ruining your life and that of your family."

"Like you can talk about ruining a family," he snorted. "You _killed _my father!"

I winced internally. "I didn't mean to," I defended.

"But you did!"

"No, I didn't," I replied through clenched teeth. "_It _did."

"_It_?"

"Yes, _it_," I confirmed. "There is...something there. Right now. Always has been. It keeps me alive, but in order to do it it kills other people. I can't control it, especially when I get mad, and when your father and I were fighting..." I trailed off, unable to continue as tears welled up in my eyes. "I am so sorry Billy."

His grey eyes met my green ones. "You're sorry? Sorry isn't gonna cut it. I had to take my little sister and run for my life, and you're 'sorry'?"

"I don't know what else you expect me to be, Billy!" I yelled. "I can't...I can't put into words how I feel when I think about your father, or what it is like to see you standing there, looking just like him. My heart breaks every day because I can't be with you and Darlie, and I love you both so much. Did you know that I was there for her wedding, and your 4 weddings? I was there, at the back of the church, and all I wanted to do was run forward and be a mother to you, tell you how proud I was that you had found love...but I couldn't. I promised myself that I would not mess with your life, or that of your family. I had a chance at being a mother, and I failed. I screwed it up, and that is on me. But that doesn't mean that I don't love you and your sister."

"I haven't seen Darlie in years," he said sadly, and my eyes widened as I realized that he didn't know. "I changed my name to get away from you, just in case you were still alive and looking for me. I only changed it back with Liz because I thought that maybe you were gone. I had to let Darlie go, and now she is dead. I have lost my father and my sister, all because of you, yet you think you have the right to show up on my doorstep and act like nothing is wrong?"

"Like nothing is wrong? Everything is wrong! This is so messed up, Billy, I can't even begin to describe it. I am only here because I am worried for you, and I need you and your family to stay safe. I have watched over Caroline and Darlie's little Molly, and tried to let you run your own family, but you are destroying it!"

"Sorry, but I am not interested in getting advice on how to run a family from you. You're not exactly Parent of the Year," he said sarcastically.

"Yes, I made a huge mistake, and it cost me my whole family. So I am standing here, William, or Noah, or whoever you are now, and I am begging you to not make that mistake with your family. Don't hide yourself from them. Tell them the truth, William. You're gonna lose them if you don't."

"No," he argued. "I won't. You know why? Because I am not you."

"Billy, please-"

"My name is Noah, and I am not your son. Now get out," he commanded, and a tear fell from my eye as I walked out.

It looked like both my children were gone now.

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**Again, I am so sorry it is incredibly short, but I already have part of the next chapter ready, so it will be uploaded soon. Thanks for reading, please leave a review! :)**


	6. Ashes to Ashes

**Here's chapter five! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and/or subscribed. It means a lot! :) I am officially using third person POV now, by the way. It just makes life easier. However, if I randomly go into first person again, let me know. It takes a while to shake the habit. :) Also, tomorrow I am going away for 8 days with my sister, so I won't be able to write. For this I apologize, but I will get right back to it when I get back! :)**

**Also, much thanks goes to my lovely BetaReader Oracle85, who has been helping me out and being amazing. :) Honestly, this story probably wouldn't be half of what it is without Oracle85's help!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but some of the plot and any OCs. I make no money from this story, it is for entertainment purposes only.**

* * *

"And up again," the nurse instructed, and Molly complied, hissing at the pain that shot through her entire arm. "Okay, and relax."

She sighed and let her arm fall to her side, glad to have the examination over. Her right shoulder had been bruised by the impact on her seatbelt, which also left a red welt on her neck where it had dug in.

Unfortunately, the shoulder was the least of her worries. It wasn't even broken.

Shards of glass had cut into her cheek and neck, and one had become embedded into her right eye. The doctors were unable to save the sight in said eye, so Molly thought herself doomed to be either eye-patch girl, glass eye girl or sunglasses girl for the rest of her life. The eye-patch was a horrific thought to her, and the glass eye was disgusting, so after a lengthy discussion with Mohinder, she decided that she would leave her damaged eye be, wear a contact over it that matched her own eye's color and wear sunglasses all the time. Hopefully she wouldn't still make children cry.

Despite the worries about her appearance, the pain was a major problem. The cuts on her face and neck stung and burned with ever motion she made and the bandages that covered them itched like crazy. She had been given medication to help with the pain, and she was completely dependent on them. The pain was like nothing she ever felt before, like someone had stabbed her in the eye.

Oh wait. That was what happened.

"Good girl," the nurse, Sally praised. "Your shoulder is fine for now. Just make sure you come back and see your doctor in two weeks to get it checked out again, okay?"

She nodded, resigned to her fate. "Okay."

There was a knock at the door, and Molly turned to see Mohinder standing there. "All done?" he asked, and she nodded. "Okay, let's make a move then."

Mohinder gently grabbed a hold of her arm and lead her through to the children's ward of the hospital, careful of how fast they walked along the pristine corridor. Molly's steps were still slow and measured regardless of how hard she tried to hide the amount of pain she was in.

The two of them had been in and out of hospital for two weeks now as Matty recovered from surgery. The doctors had confirmed that he would never walk again, and this was taking a huge toll on his father. The loss of his wife and unborn child, coupled with the hospitalization of his only remaining biological child was not an easy thing for him to handle, and Molly felt that he was spending too much time at the bar across the road from the hospital rather than sitting by his disabled son's bedside.

Mohinder was a constant helper, though. He was in and out of the hospital, getting clothes from home so Matty and Molly didn't have to wear hospital gowns all the time and sneaking in edible food for the two of them to eat. She wondered not for the first what she would have done without him in her life, she was sure feeling of powerlessness would have overwhelmed her long ago. They had both discussed the possibility of getting some of Claire Bennet's blood, but she was MIA, so that wasn't really an option.

They arrived at Matty's room, and Mohinder stayed outside so Molly could go in and see him alone. She opened the door and slowly walked in, smiling down at the little boy in the hospital bed that seemed to swallow his small frame.

"Hey kiddo," she greeted with a sad smile as he looked up at her with big brown eyes.

"Molly!" he responded happily. "Are you going home with Daddy?" he asked, knowing that he couldn't go with them yet.

"No, kiddo. I am going with Mohinder, but he will be back later, I promise. I am just going to go home and get some rest, but I will be back in the morning," she told him, and he nodded.

"Daddy doesn't come to visit," he told me, sounding confused. "He stands outside the door, but he doesn't come in. Why doesn't he come in, Molly?"

She sighed, carefully kneeling down to be at his eye level. "Matty, sometimes when someone is sad, they need to be alone for a while. Daddy is very sad, and he's going to need some time alone, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love you. He cares about you very much and he wants to keep you safe, okay? That's why he stands outside; to make sure you're alright."

"Okay," he said. "Is he going to go and see Mommy and the baby at the grave yard?"

Molly swallowed deeply, trying to not cry. "I think so, Matty."

He sighed sadly, looking down at his hands. "I miss Mommy."

"I know, baby. Me too," she told him, taking hold of his hands and leaning over to place a kiss on his forehead. "Just hang in there, okay? I'll be back soon."

"Okay, Molly. I'll be okay. The nurses in here are hot," he told her and she burst out laughing.

"You have got to stick to kids' TV mister," she told him, ruffling his hair affectionately. "I love you Matty."

"Love you too Molly."

She gave him one last smile before leaving the room, where a concerned Mohinder was waiting. By the look on his face, she knew he had heard everything. He took Molly's arm and led her out of the hospital and into the warm sun, hoping desperately that he would be able to somehow salvage the pieces of this broken family.

* * *

Molly stood, frozen in her place as she stared at the two graves before her. To her right was Matt, glaring at the grave stones and what they represented, to her left was little Matty in his new wheel chair. It had taken a lot of getting used to, and there was still a long way to go until they would be used to having the five year old partially immobiled, but they were coping because they had to.

Molly had taken over all of Janice's old chores, from the cooking to the cleaning, since Matt didn't bother with any of it. He had taken to alcohol to drown his sorrows. He had lost his wife and unborn child, and was not handling it very well. He never got in a car unless he was completely drunk, so Molly had to drive the three of them everywhere on her learner's permit.

Mohinder had stayed to help out, but there was only so much he could do between helping Molly and Matty and going out to watch Matt while he drank at bars around town and starting fights everywhere he went.

But they coped, because there was no other choice.

* * *

"Molly!" Matty screamed, and Molly sighed, putting the serving spoon down and running through the house and into Matty's room.

"Yes Matty?" she said, he was sitting in his wheelchair at his desk, drawing like he always did.

"I want to show you my drawing," he told her.

"Sorry kiddo, but I am just about to serve dinner. Maybe after?" she suggested, he nodded slowly. "Come on, let's get your hands washed so we can eat." She walked behind his chair and pulled him out from under the table, spun him around, the motion make the boy giggle. Then she walked him through the house to the bathroom. She took a deep breath, preparing to go through the very painful process of washing the little boy's hands. She braced herself, moving her legs further apart so she wouldn't fall over, as she lifted him up and leaned him over the sink, keeping a strong arm around his waist as she turned on the taps that were far too hard for him to turn on himself. He scrubbed, got soap from the soap pump and managed to clean his own hands, thanks to Molly's constant tutoring over the previous weeks. She put him down, both happy with their effort.

"Okay, now let's go! To dinner, and beyond!" she exclaimed, pushing the giggling little boy through the house and into the dining room where she wheeled him up to the table. "Lemme just serve your food, big boy."

Molly walked back into the kitchen and served his spaghetti, topping it with beef mince and cheese. She ran a knife and fork through it, cutting the noddles so they weren't too long, and took the plate over and set it in front of Matty.

"Eat up!"

He smiled and took his fork, shovelling the food into his mouth. Molly sighed and watched as he spilled more on his shirt than he got into his mouth, but it was alright. It was something she was becoming used to.

Peter Petrelli walked through the hospital, worried out of his mind. His senses were bombarded with the smells of disinfectants and the smell of hospital food that should not be consumed by humans, but he realized that after working in a hospital for most of his adult life, these smells were almost comforting. They meant that something was being done to help the sick, injured and dying. It was much better than the smell of burnt rubber and fuel he had encountered so often with his time as a paramedic working vehicle accidents.

"Peter!" a familiar voice called out, he turned to see his little sister walking up to him, still in her leotard and stockings, she had come straight from a dance class she was running. "How is she?"

"Hey Renee," Peter greeted, giving his sister a small smile. "She's doing okay. I just left her so she can rest."

Renee took a deep breath before smiling a little. "She's gonna hate being in here."

Peter nodded, letting a small grin appear on his face. "Yep."

They laughed quietly. "So, do you want to go and get something to eat?" Renee asked. "I dunno 'bout you but I'm starving!"

Peter shook his head. "Sorry but I have to go home to Emma. She's really worried about Ma."

Renee frowned. "Just ask her to come with us then!"

"No, I think it's just best for us to have a night at home. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Renee nodded. "Yeah, sure," she said, trying to sound upbeat. Peter gave her hair a ruffle as he passed her, leaving her standing alone in the hallway.

* * *

The next day, Angela was wide awake and able to give commands, which wasn't necessarily a good thing for her two remaining children.

"Peter, go and tell the kitchen that I am lactose intolerant. They sent me the mousse again!" she demanded. Peter sighed.

"Yes Ma," he said, and obediently left the room to do as his mother had instructed.

Renee exhaled loudly before leaning back in the seat she was sitting in next to her mother's bed. "You know, I think I preferred you when you were sedated." Angela glared at her daughter. "I was kidding. Please don't kill me."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Even in the face of tragedy, you never grow up, do you Renee?" she asked.

Renee raised an eyebrow. "Was that rhetorical? If not, no, I don't grow up. I'm the Peter Pan of bunheaded dancers."

"Claire is missing, and I am stuck in this hospital bed, and all you can do is joke around," Angela said, sounding angry.

"Wow, you sound awfully concerned," Renee said with a laugh. "You know the only time you have to really be worried about me is when I'm not joking around, right?"

"Sometimes I honestly cannot understand how you live your life the way you do," Angela told her daughter, her voice full of disbelief. "You are nothing like anyone in our family."

Renee shrugged. "Being adopted does that to a person. Besides, in a world full of psychopaths that poison their husbands and experiment on their children, what can one do but make light of these serious situations?"

Angela shook her head. "Have you learned nothing as my daughter?"

Renee thought for a moment. "I can lie and stab people in the back, if that's what you're wondering."

Angela glared at her daughter for what must have been the millionth time since she adopted her as a baby. "Sarcasm does not suit you."

"Who said anything about sarcasm?" Renee replied instantly, a triumphant grin on her face. Angela rolled her eyes. "Hey! That's my job!" Renee exclaimed with a laugh, referring to the eye roll. It was a rare thing for her mother to do. Usually, Angela merely flicked her eyes upward, as though she was begging for patience from some unknown entity, but Renee was certain that she had caught her doing a full blown eye roll.

Peter slowly pushed open the room door, re-entering the room catching the tail end of their conversation. "You ladies aren't arguing again?" he asked, his eyes flicking between the two of them.

"Oh no, mother dear and I are getting along swell, as you would expect," she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. She stood quickly and placed a quick kiss on her brother's cheek. "I have to go to work, you know, teach the kiddies how to move on the dance floor and not fall over. Bye!" She waved at Angela, quickly making her exit.

Angela looked at Peter, annoyance clearly written across her face.

"Don't let her get to you, Ma. She just does that because she's scared," he told his mother, sitting in the chair his sister had vacated.

"Renee, scared? She doesn't seem to be frightened by much, dear," Angela replied.

"No, she is terrified. She loves Claire just as much as the rest of us, Ma. She is worried about her, I can tell."

Angela sighed. "You always do see the best in people, Peter."

Peter frowned at her. "Why do you always see the worst in her Ma?"

"Peter, she is the way she is, and there is nothing we can do about it. I am merely being realistic. I raised her as my own child, but that is not how she behaves. She is not one of us, Peter."

"Us?" he asked angrily. "What, murderers? Killers? Freaks? Are you really holding a grudge against the girl you legally adopted just because she's HUMAN?"

"Peter, that's not what I meant. She is different, and you know it. You can tell. You just can't admit it because to you, she is still the chubby little baby your father brought home one night when you were seven," Angela informed him.

Peter leaned forward and looked into his mother's eyes. "No Ma, you just wish she was more like you."

* * *

"Molly!" Mohinder called out, as he struggled to keep the cardboard box shut.

"Coming!" came the reply from the other room. Molly appeared moments later, sporting her new shades that she didn't take off outside of her room. "What's up?"

"I can't keep this box shut, there's too much stuff in it. Can you get me another box?" he asked.

"Sure," Molly replied as she turned around and grabbed an empty box from behind her. She tossed it at Mohinder, and he caught it with his foot. She smiled at him. "That was awesome."

"MOLLY!" a screeching voice called, and Molly sighed, wiping drops of sweat off her forehead.

"Coming Matty!" she called in reply, giving Mohinder one last tired smile before walking out of the room and into Matty's, who sat up in his wheelchair, drawing.

"Yes buddy?" she said.

"Come look at my drawings," he said, holding one up with glee.

"Sure," she replied, walking over to him and kneeling beside the small table specially adjusted for Matty's height. She looked over the drawings. "Wow kiddo! They're great!" she exclaimed, and she meant it. He drew mostly cars, but there was the occasional fish or rocket ship in the mix.

"Thanks," he said bashfully, and Molly put the drawings back down and planted a kiss on his head.

"I have to go and do some more packing, but I'll be back in a bit, okay?" she said, and he nodded before returning to his drawings.

Molly stood at the doorway and watched him for a moment, amazed at how adorable he looked and how well he was handling the recent upheaval in all their lives. His tongue hung out the corner of his mouth, poking around as he concentrated on the task at hand. She stifled a giggle and left to continue packing.

* * *

"Bye Renee!" one of the younger ballet students called out as she walked towards her waiting mother. Renee looked up giving her a smile.

"Bye!" she replied, waving a little. Her class was officially over, and she was very thankful for it.

Within a few minutes, all the children had cleared out of the dance studio and Renee had left the room, locking it on her way out. She then walked into the busy hall, dodging the children who were running around as their mothers chased after them. Several of the older women tried to get Renee's attention, but she kept her head down and walked along the hall as quickly as possible. Dance moms were insane, she avoided getting involved with them as much as possible. All Renee did was teach a few classes for extra cash and the women somehow thought that she could get their daughters incredible opportunities in the dancing business.

She managed to get out of the hall without encountering any pushy parents and turn into the staff area, shutting the door behind her. Leaning against as she sighed in relief.

"Dance moms, huh?" a deep voice said, Renee jumped. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

She looked up to see a young man, a few years older than her. "No, you didn't. I just...didn't think there was anyone in here at the moment. There usually isn't."

He smiled at her, his big brown eyes looking into her own. "I'm just waiting for my Mom to come out of her class."

"Your Mom's taking ballet classes? Wow, I wouldn't have thought your Mom would be six years old," Renee joked lamely, trying to use humor to distract herself from the man's intense gaze.

He chuckled and ran a hand through his curly brown hair. "No, she teaches."

"Really? What's her name? I might know her," Renee said, trying to make conversation.

"Maria Mathers," he replied, and Renee's eyes widened as she gulped loudly.

"Okay," she said slowly. "Your mother is the woman who is in charge of this entire place. Cool."

He laughed. "I know she's an intimidating woman, but she's really not that bad."

Renee shook her head. "Oh no, your mom's fine. Great, actually. Some of the other teachers are scared by her, but not me. My mother is ten times worse, believe me. But just because Maria doesn't scare me, doesn't mean I want to get on her bad side."

"Who does?" he asked with a smirk. He walked closer to Renee and held out his hand. "James Mathers."

Renee took his hand and shook it. "Renee Petrelli."

"Petrelli?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds..."

"Familiar?" Renee guessed, and he nodded. "That would be because my brother was the president of your country."

He opened his mouth to form an 'o'. "Really? Nathan Petrelli?"

"Yep. The one and only."

"Wow," he said. "The one that..." he trailed off as he realized what he had been about to say.

Renee looked him in the eye. "Died in a car accident a few years ago? Yep. The very same."

"I'm so sorry," he said sincerely.

"Yeah, so is the rest of the country," Renee said dismissively. "So, why are you waiting for your Mom?" she asked, changing the subject.

He cleared his throat, glad the awkward moment was in the past, where he hoped it would stay. "I'm taking her out to dinner tonight to catch up. I've been overseas for the last year or so,  
and only came back yesterday."

"So that's why I haven't seen you around here before!" Renee announced, acting as though the entire universe now made sense.

"Well, I wasn't really planning on coming round here very often, but now I don't know," he said, a flirtatious tone in his voice as he looked into Renee's blue eyes.

Renee took a deep breath and smiled back at him. "Well, just be careful. There are some weird people around here, myself included," Renee said with a laugh.

Their conversation was interrupted by Renee's phone as it began to ring. She pulled it out of her pocket and flipped it open.

"Hello?"

_"Renee, I need to talk to you."_

"Peter, hey. What's up?"

_"Just...come by my place as soon as you can please."_

"Okay, I'm on my way."

_"Thanks." _

Renee hung up and turned to James, an apologetic smile on her face. "Sorry but I have to go. My brother needs me. This happens a lot. Anyway, I guess I'll catch you later."

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "See you around Renee."

She gave him a smile. _ASK FOR MY NUMBER! _she yelled mentally, but unfortunately James was no Matt Parkman, so she simply gave him a small wave and walked out of the room.

* * *

"Peter, hi!" Renee greeted as her brother let her into his house. "What's up?"

He ran a hand through his hair and walked through the house without saying a word, Renee followed closely behind him. They walked into the living room where a very pale Emma sat.

Renee all but leapt on to the couch beside her sister-in-law and put her head in her lap. "Hi," she said, looking up, and Emma laughed softly, looking down at her friend.

"Hello," she replied, and Renee saw the sadness in her eyes.

"Alright! What's going on?" Renee asked.

"There was...an accident at the hospital," Peter began.

Renee frowned. "Don't tell me Angela threatened one of the staff!" she groaned.

Peter shook his head. "No...Renee, Ma is dead."

Renee stared at him for a moment before laughing hysterically. "Good one Petey! Now, what did you really call me here for?" It was then that Renee saw the tears in Emma's eyes, and she stopped dead in her tracks. "You're serious, aren't you?" she whispered softly, and Peter nodded solemnly. Renee took a deep, shaky breath and pursed her lips. "How?"

"They don't know. They just walked into her room and she was gone," he said, barely able to get the words past the lump in his throat.

Renee suddenly found it near impossible to breathe as her chest tightened painfully and was overtaken by an unbearable cold that left her with goosebumps.

Her mother was dead.

* * *

**So, there it is! I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think! :) See you all in eight days! **


	7. The Guardian

**So, here is the next chapter! By the way, I really do need you guys to review and let me know your thoughts. I can only improve with this if you all help me! :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but some of the plot and any OCs. **

* * *

Desme fought back the urge to scream in frustration as she looked over yet another inconclusive report, telling her nothing about the disappearance of her adopted granddaughter. She shoved the report into the trash as she passed the kitchen of her small motel room grabbing a glass from one of the door less cupboards. She filled the glass with tap water and gulped it all down before filling it up again. She was thirsty all the time, and wasn't quite sure why. Possibly, due to all the stress, but she tried not to dwell on it all that much.

Desme had locked herself in the motel room for hours, going through all the information she had been able to gather, which hadn't been much. She knew the details of the fuel company that had been working on the plane at the time, the name of every employee but that wasn't really a secret at all, as it was all online. It seemed that the company liked to keep tabs on all their employees, and have everyone else know that they did. The workers all had online profiles, managed by their employers, that listed the jobs they had worked on and what they specialized in. Desme had managed to find all eleven men that worked on Angela's private plane that day. All of them came up clean.

It was then that Desme realized just how long it had been since she had left her motel room. She didn't really have anyone to go clubbing with, nor did she have any desire to do so. She did occasionally feel the need to go out and have a drink, tonight was one of those nights.

Little did she know that this decision just might change her entire life.

And so, a clueless Desme went and got ready to go down to the local bar and relax. She put extra effort into styling her hair, putting on some jeans that weren't worn out. She considered changing tops, but decided that the patterned spaghetti strapped top she had on would do if she put on a cardigan over it. When she was finally set, she added a little mascara to finish her look. Desme was ready to go out and do something stupid. Or just have a drink and go home.

By the time she got to the bar, it was late enough for several slobbering drunks falling around the place, upon entering the establishment, Desme once again found herself wondering why on earth, she kept coming back to places like these. There was something strangely attractive about them, something that was equally repulsive, but she somehow always felt the need to return. It was confusing, even to someone as old as her, but she pushed all those feelings aside and marched up to the bar, her boots hitting the floor loudly with each step she took.

She smiled at the woman behind the bar, and ordered her drink. Once she was served, she moved to the corner booth to drink it. In places like this, Desme had learned from experience that it was best to be able to see all of what was going on around her, and the only place with a full view of the whole room was that corner booth. Sitting anywhere else would have felt wrong, and essentially ruined the night.

Desme stayed seated for an hour or so, slowly sipping her beer and observing the interactions of those around her. Some men approached her, hoping to come in and sweep her off her feet. However, Desme was not a fan of the stench that followed them all everywhere they went. She sent them on their way.

She had been there for about an hour and a half and had, had three beers (she was walking home after all) when the door opened and a man walked in. She couldn't quite see his face as it was  
turned away from her, but the moment he walked in Desme knew something different was going him.

The stranger walked up to the bar, and ordered his drink. He was served, he, much like Desme had moved to another booth rather than sitting on one of the barstools.

Smart man.

However smart he was. Desme still could not see his face, irritating her greatly. He seemed so familiar, yet she could not quite put her finger on it...

It was then that a drunk man at a nearby table wandered up to him, trying to get a raise out him, he looked up and told the man to go away. Desme tuned her keener senses into what was happening as it was some way away and there were other noises in the bar.

"How about you leave me alone," the stranger said sternly stressing each and every word as though his life depended on it. The drunk simply turned and walked away without a word, and it was then that Desme realized who he was.

The man from the bar, over 20 years previously.

* * *

_Renee woke with a start, looking around her room desperately, trying to see if the monster that_ _had plagued her nightmares had managed to cross over into reality, to her relief, her room was_ _empty._

_The usually pink room had an almost magical blue glow about it, coming from her night light, and_ _this often comforted Renee, but not now. Her nightmares were getting worse and worse, and she_ _didn't know what to do. She could go to her mother's room, but she didn't want to wake her. She_ _had been very busy lately and was very tired as a result._

_Renee then came to a decision that she should wake Peter, her older brother. At 14 years old, he __was a wonderful brother. He cared for her and was always there for her. She loved him dearly, and_ _he was quite possibly her favorite person in the whole world._

_Renee rolled out of bed, tiptoeing through the house as she made her way to Peter's bedroom._ _Just as she was about to knock on his door, a voice came from behind her._

_"Don't wake him up, dear. He has a big exam tomorrow," Angela said, Renee whirled around to_ _face her._

_She looked at the ground, feeling ashamed. "Sorry Mother," she said, Angela smiled, walking over_ _to her mother._

_"It's not a problem, love. What's the matter?" she asked soothingly, stroking her daughter's_ _hair. "Did you have another nightmare?"_

_Renee's eyes widened as she looked up to meet her mother's grey eyes. "How did you know I have_ _nightmares?" she asked, and Angela smiled._

_"You are my daughter, Renee. I know everything about you. It's my job," she replied before taking_ _Renee's hand. "Come with me. We'll go downstairs and have some hot chocolate to calm you down_ _and maybe even watch a movie. What would you like to watch?"_

_Renee's eyes lit up at the prospect of watching a movie with her mother, who was usually far too_ _busy for such things. "Mary Poppins!" Renee insisted and Angela grinned._

_"That's my favorite!" she told her daughter. Renee nodded happily._

_"Mine too!" she announced as they arrived in the kitchen. Angela lifted the 7 year old onto the_ _bench and turned to make some hot chocolate. "Mother, aren't you going to wake up the cook to_ _make the hot chocolate?" she asked curiously. Angela laughed._

_"I think I will be fine, dear. I can cook and such you know! Your father just doesn't like it when I_ _do. It is the cook's job to cook, just as it is the maid's job to clean, but sometimes we need to do_ _things for ourselves. It's just the way things are, love," Angela explained, and Renee nodded._

_"Will I have to learn to cook and clean?" Renee asked her mother, and Angela smiled at her._

_"Only if you want to, dear," she told her, pulling mugs out of the cupboard. "Do you want to_ _darling?"_

_Renee bit her lip thoughtfully. "I don't know. I do want to, but only if I'm good at it."_

_Angela smiled. "Of course, dear. But I am sure you would be amazing at cooking and cleaning. If_ _you wanted to, you could have the cleanest house and make the best food in the world."_

_Renee giggled. "No!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "I am sure that somewhere there is someone_ _who is better than me."_

_Angela turned to look her daughter in the eye. "Don't be so sure, darling. You are a very special_ _little girl."_

_"Not as special as you," she replied immediately, and Angela laughed happily._

_"Oh darling! You are so precious," Angela said with a sigh._

_Renee frowned, thinking for a moment. "Mother?"_

_"Yes dear?"_

_"Why are you never happy when Father is around?"_

_Angela sighed, walking over to her daughter and looking her in the eye once more. "Renee,_ _sometimes a wife has to just do as their husband wishes, no matter the consequences. I am doing_ _what your father needs, sweetheart."_

_"What does he need?" Renee asked, feeling very confused._

_"He needs a wife that is quiet, smart, and good for his business. He needs a family that is both __supportive and respectful, and he needs people that will do as he says, no questions asked. And_ _so, we must do this for him. He is a very important man, and we need to do what we can to help_ _him," Angela explained, though she didn't believe a single word that came out of her mouth._

_"Do we always have to do what he wants?" Renee asked. "It doesn't sound like much fun."_

_Angela smiled sadly. "Not you, sweet cheeks. One day you'll grow up and move out of here, as will_ _Peter and Nathan. But me? Yes, darling. I will always do as he says."_

_Renee looked deep in her mother's eyes, feeling very serious. "But you can move with me and my_ _children!" she insisted, and Angela laughed._

_"Oh really? Well, I am sure that would be lovely, but I don't think that will happen," Angela told_ _her, and she sighed._

_"But...but my children will need you!" she cried, and Angela sighed, taking her daughter in her_ _arms._

_"No they won't, Nee. They will have you! And you will be the bestest, most wonderful mother_ _ever!" Angela told her. "You will be caring, but firm, and they will love and adore you."_

_Renee looked confused. "But I can't be the best mother ever," she said sadly._

_"And why is that?" Angela asked._

_"Because you are!" Renee told her, and her mother smiled at her._

_"Oh, you are a darling, Renee. You truly are," Angela told her. "Don't you ever forget that."_

_"I won't mother," Renee promised. "I love you."_

_Angela smiled sadly and kissed her daughter on the forehead. "I love you too Renee. I will always_ _love you."_

Renee woke with a start, tears in her eyes the moment she opened them. She looked around the room as she sat up, realizing that she was in Peter's lounge room. For a moment, she felt disoriented, before remembering that she had crashed there after the funeral as she just hadn't been able face going home alone_._

Shivering, Renee looked down to see that she was still wearing the black dress from the funeral. It had long sleeves, but ended at her knees. She stood, almost gasping as her bare feet met with the cold floor. Wiping tears from her cheeks and pushing any thoughts of her recurring dream from her head, she walked through the house she had come to know just as well as her own. She opened one of the cupboards and tried to pull a blanket from the top shelf, she struggled as there were several items on top of it.

"Need some help?" a voice asked, and Renee turned to see Peter standing there in a plain grey t-shirt and pyjama bottoms.

"Just a bit," she sighed, and Peter came up beside her, holding the items on top so she could slide the blanket out. They walked together to the lounge room, Peter sat down on one of the lounges. Without even asking, Renee lay on the couch beside him, putting a cushion on his lap and laying her head on top of it. She wrapped the blanket around herself, closing her eyes as she was enveloped in the warmth of the blanket and the safety that came with being beside her brother.

"I am guessing you couldn't sleep either?" Peter asked, Renee nodded absent mindedly.

"Keep having the same damn dream," she said, sounding angry.

"The one with the hot chocolate?" Peter asked, and she nodded once more.

"Never known a hot beverage to be so distressing," she replied, rubbing her eyes. "I just...can't get it out of my head. It was the last time I ever saw Ma happy."

Peter nodded. "I don't really remember her being happy actually. I guess she saved that side for her little girl," he joked, tweaking Renee's nose.

"I guess so," Renee replied, swatting his hand away. "I miss her Pete," Renee confessed, tears welling up in her eyes again.

"Me too, kid. Me too," Peter replied with a sigh. "She was manipulative and bossy, but I think in a weird way that was what we needed."

Renee nodded in agreement. "I just wish I could've told her that."

* * *

Desme took a deep breath, trying to not alarm anyone. She still hadn't seen his face, but she somehow knew it was him. His hair looked exactly the same as it had when she met him previously, which she found incredibly odd as he had to have been at least sixty by now as it was thirty years ago.

Maybe he had a healing ability like Claire? He couldn't possibly have the same curse that she did, could he?

Irritated, Desme gulped down her beer and watched the man carefully, studying his every move. She needed to find out who he was, and fast.

He paid the bill shortly after, tipping the waitress handsomely before leaving the bar, walking out with confidence in his every step. Desme got up immediately, following him out and  
trying her best to remain inconspicuous, but it wasn't exactly her strong suit.

She followed him through the streets, as it seemed he preferred to walk from place to place rather than take a taxi or drive himself, and she cursed this fact as she wobbled along the streets in her heels, desperately trying to walk quietly. She eventually gave up stopping to rip her heels from her feet rather violently, holding them in her hands as she walked around the corner where he had disappeared into.

He was nowhere to be seen.

Frowning, Desme crept forward, looking along the darkened and deserted street for signs of where he had disappeared to. She hadn't taken that long to take of her heels, had she?

Suddenly, hands grabbed her from behind, one gripping her waist tightly, preventing escape, and the other clamped tightly over her mouth.

* * *

Peter strode into the hospital, walking up the front desk and the woman behind it.

"Hi," he greeted.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, sounding bored. She was in her mid to late forties, and boy did she look it. She didn't seem to be too thrilled with her job either.

"I am looking for Andrew Bartlett? I was told he came to yesterday?" Peter asked, and the woman nodded. "Room 223," she replied, returning to her task of tapping away furiously on her keyboard.

"Thank you," Peter said politely, but she wasn't listening. He walked away from the desk and along the halls, searching for the room. It took him a while as he wasn't familiar with this particular hospital, but he eventually found it. Tapping gently on the door, a hoarse voice was heard from the other side.

"Come in," Andrew said, and Peter opened the door.

"Hi," he greeted, the man smiled at him from the hospital bed. He was as white as the sheets he lay in, and dangerously thin. He was hooked up to numerous machines, and Peter instantly regretted the news he was going to have to give this man.

"It's nice to see you Andrew," he began. Might as well get the niceties out of the way. "How are you feeling?"

Andrew chuckled lowly. "Peachy. Yourself?"

Peter smirked dryly. "Same here."

There was an awkward silence, broken by Andrew. "I am guessing you are here to ask me about that day?" he said, and Peter sighed, sitting down in the chair beside Andrew's bed.

"Yeah," he replied. "I am really sorry, I know you just woke up and everything, but I really need to know what happened that day."

"The investigators didn't tell you enough already?" Andrew asked. "They told me yesterday that it was a ruptured fuel tank or something."

"But you don't believe them," Peter stated obviously.

"Of course not. It's bullshit," he replied.

"Nicely put," Peter chuckled. "So, did you see anything suspicious?"

Andrew shook his head slowly, then winced at the pain in his stiff neck. "Sorry Peter, but I saw nothing. I was on the plane the whole time, with the pilot."

"But they didn't make it," Peter said, and Andrew nodded.

"I went into a separate section of the plane for a moment, near where Angela was. Guess the need for a drink was the thing that saved me," he replied, and Peter smiled.

"Who would have thought alcohol would save a man's life," he said, leaning back with a sigh. "I assume you know about Angela?" he asked and Andrew nodded.

"Yeah, I was told soon after I woke up. I am really sorry Peter. You know you guys are like family to me," he said sincerely, and Peter nodded.

"So am I. Renee's been taking it especially hard," he told Andrew, and Andrew nodded understandingly.

"She is more like Angela than she realizes, and though they fought like cats and dogs, they were close in the end I suppose," he said, and Peter nodded.

"I know. I just wish there was something I could do about it. Just to make it easier on Nee," he said wistfully.

"Of course you wish there was something you could do. She's your baby sister, Peter," Andrew told him. "She always will be, no matter how much she grows. You two might not be related in blood, but ever since your Mom brought her home when you were younger, you have protected that girl fiercely."

Peter sighed. "Sometimes too fiercely, I guess. Anyway, I should let you rest, Andrew. Thank you for your help," he said, clasping his friend's hand tightly for a moment.

"It was nice seeing you Peter," Andrew told him. "I hope you find Claire and her little one soon."

Peter nodded, tears pricking at the back of his eyes. "So do I Andrew. So do I."

* * *

He dragged Desme through the streets, taking the back ways keeping a firm grip on her the entire time. She desperately tried to overpower him, but found her advanced strength futile against him. He was too strong, and Desme was overcome with the all too familiar sensation of feeling powerless.

He threw her against a wall, she groaned as her bones crunched against it and her skin scraped painfully against the brick. She slid to the ground and lay there, trying to breathe as her ribs and dislocated shoulder snapped back into place. She looked up at the man, blood dripping down into her eye from the slowly healing wound on her forehead.

"What the hell are you?" she demanded, trying to get up, but he grabbed her neck and shoved her still sensitive body back against the wall, holding her there this time. She looked up into his eyes, and she immediately regretted it. They were cold, merciless grey, staring back into her own, and she felt a tug at the back of her mind as he spoke softly.

"You will tell me who you are and what you are doing here," he ordered calmly.

"I am De-" she cut herself off the moment she realized she was speaking, and she frowned, realizing that the feeling in her head wasn't the Darkness.

It was him.

"Get the hell out of my head!" she screamed at him, closing her eyes and trying to break the control he seemed to have over her. She placed her palms against his chest and shoved him hard, he stumbled back a bit. Most people would've gone sailing into the wall opposite her, but not this bastard. He stumbled, or rather stepped back, remaining completely composed as he grabbed her and once more clamped a hand over her mouth so she couldn't make any noise.

He dragged her further into the alley, stopping when he heard people walk by, and they went through more back streets until they ended up in a motel. Everything was a blur as she felt his hand begin to crush her skull and black spots appeared before her eyes, but she was soon being dumped on the floor of a motel room. It took a while for the pounding to subside, and she looked up to see him standing above her once more.

"How did you resist the compulsion?" he demanded. "I don't smell vervain anywhere on you."

She glared up at him, slowly trying to get up, but he kicked her violently across the head with such force her neck snapped, she slumped on the floor for a moment before coming to again, her neck healing instantly.

"Stop that!" she yelled at him. "God, you're such an idiot."

"Answer my questions!" he demanded, ignoring her words. "Why did you follow me?"

Desme sat up slowly, but didn't stand. She rubbed her jaw slowly. "Maybe because you haven't aged a day since I saw you in that bar all those years ago? You should be old and grey, but you're not and I wanted to know why!"

"You know why!" he shot back. "I'm a vampire, just like you-"

"Vampire?" Desme asked, and he glared at her.

"You can't seriously expect me to believe that you are not a vampire. You haven't aged a day either, so explain how that is!"

"I've never aged, not since..." she trailed off, glaring up at him. "Let me go. I don't want to know any more, just let me go."

"And why shouldn't I just kill you?" he asked her.

"Because it won't work," she shot back. "Trust me, I've tried. It never works."

"You can be killed, I assure you," he said. "Why were you following me? Tell me quickly, before I stake you through the heart!" he growled.

"Because you haven't changed!" she yelled in reply, backing away from him. "Who the hell are you?"

He advanced on her, and she made a decision. She leapt out of his reach and dove through the unopened window, glass slicing at her skin before she landed on the ground below with a thud. She pulled herself to her feet and limped away, beginning to run the moment her bones snapped back into place, reaching top speed moments later, which was quite fast, leaving a baffled and irritated Original standing in the motel room, wondering what the hell the woman was.

* * *

Claire opened her eyes with a load groan, rubbing her face as she stood shakily to her feet, looking around her, trying to gage her surroundings. She was in a grassy field, with trees in the near distance. It was early in the morning, and very cold. She groaned once more, rubbing her stiff limbs.

She turned her head from side to side. Where the hell was she?

It was then that she realized something, that stopped her short. Smoothing her hands over her stomach, her eyes widening with shock.

She wasn't pregnant any more.

* * *

**There's the next chapter for y'all! :) Thank you very much for reading, please leave a review!**


	8. Awakening

**So sorry, stupid me put this chapter up unedited. Anyway, here is the version that has been combed through by Oracle85, and is therefore much improved. R&R!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the plot and any OCs. **

* * *

Claire eventually managed to find the strength to stand, though the spinning earth around her was not assisting in this endeavour. The toes of her bare feet curled against the soft grass in an attempt to cling to the surface as her whirling head made her feel as though she would fly from the ground any moment and be lost in the endless blue sky. Cold air pricked at her arms and chilled her to the bone, though her body was not shivering for mere physical reasons.

Somewhere, somehow, she had given birth, and she had no idea how.

This thought alone terrified Claire to the point where it was becoming hard to think or breathe. Panic shot through her, and her whole body began to shake. Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees once more, laying herself on the grass as she ran her hands through her hair and over herself, pointedly avoiding her stomach. Ever so slowly, choked sobs escaped her throat, each becoming louder and louder until she let out a final howling scream. She continued until black spots appeared in front of her eyes and her lungs were completely starved of air, she collapsed, unable to do anything but mumble incoherently and toss from side to side, desperately wanting to hear the cry of a child.

Nothing came.

* * *

"Well, this is the last of it," Mohinder announced, firmly slamming shut the trunk of the station wagon.

"Thank you so much Mohinder," Molly said as she adjusted her shades over her eyes making sure they were firmly in place. "It really means a lot to have you helping us out."

"No problem Molly," he replied, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "But just make sure you call me if there is ever any trouble, okay?"

"Okay," she confirmed before turning to where Matty sat in his chair, playing with some pieces of lego. "Come on kiddo!"

"Do we have to go in the car?" Matty complained, but Molly knew there was more to it that just this.

She knelt down beside him and looked him in the eye. "Matty, you know nothing is going to happen, right?"

He frowned. "But Mommy got hurt!"

Molly nearly broke right then and there, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked the tears away, glad that he could not see her eyes any longer. "I know, but you are gonna be okay, alright? You're gonna be fine. I'll be there the whole time, and so will Daddy."

"Will Daddy be driving?" he asked curiously, as this was practically unheard of these days.

Molly shook her head. "No, I can do it. Denver isn't too far, and we will have lots of stops on the way, I promise."

"Okay," he said with a sigh and Mohinder walked over to him.

"Ready to hop in Matty?" he asked, and the little boy nodded. Mohinder reached for him and lifted him out of the chair, carrying him to the car and strapping him in tightly while Molly collapsed the chair and shoved it onto the back seat. Once everything was strapped in and shut tight, Molly turned to Mohinder.

"Thank you so much for your help,'' she said, wrapping him in a tight hug.

"The pleasure was mine. Stay safe, okay kiddo?" She nodded. "I'll go and get Matt, and then you can hit the road." He walked inside and soon came out with a tired looking and slightly hung-over Matt. Without a word, Matt hopped in the front passenger seat and Molly jumped into the driver's seat, starting the car. Mohinder stood on the edge of the curb and waved to them until they were no longer in his field of view.

Claire stood on her shaky feet observed her surroundings once more, this time with a much clearer head. She was in a rural-looking area with seemingly no sign of civilization in sight. She turned around, trying to decide which direction would serve her best to travel in, soon realizing that she had no idea what to do, or where to go.

What should she do once night fell?

How would she find civilization?

She had no option but to make a move. The sun was directly above her, signifying midday, but this meant that she had no way of telling what way was east or west. Not that that would help her either, as she had no idea where she was.

Claire picked up a nearby stick and snapped the end off of it, deciding that whatever direction the jagged, broken end pointed to once she dropped it would be the direction she would travel in. It  
wasn't scientific, but it would have to do for her. She dropped the stick and watched intensely as it bounced twice before rolling a little and coming to a halt. It pointed to the hills to her left, and she tucked her loose hair behind her ears and began to walk, preparing herself for whatever was to come. She was afraid, and didn't know how she would get out of wherever she was but she did know one thing for sure.

No matter what happened, she would find her child, and she would bring hell to those that had taken him or her.

It was starting to get dark by the time Claire set eyes upon the most incredible thing she had ever seen in her life.

A road.

Just asphalt and paint so worn down it was barely visible, yet it was so beautiful to her tired eyes. She had to blink rapidly and pinch herself several times to make sure it was not a mirage of some sort of cruel joke. After several hours of travel without rest or hope, she had resigned herself to spending yet another night in the wilderness, but the sight of the road brought new hope to her.

It would have only have been thirty seconds or so since she had first laid eyes on it that the unmistakeable sound of an engine was heard from the distance, soon enough, headlights came into view.

Realizing that she was still standing up on the hill ten metres from the road, Claire began to run down the hill at full speed, her tired limbs finding new strength. She waved her arms back and forth in an attempt to get the driver's attention. It wasn't too dark, so the sight of a woman by the side of the road, jumping up and down, would be incredibly difficult to miss. Besides, at the point Claire was prepared to jump in front of the moving vehicle if it insured that she would get out of there.

She waved her arms up and down like a lunatic for a good twenty seconds before the car slowed to a halt. Claire almost smiled with relief, but after the day, well, life, she had been having, she wasn't really in a smiley mood.

The door on the driver's side of the car opened as soon as the car stopped moving, and a young man, he could not be anything over the age of thirty, stepped out and walked around to where Claire stood by the side of the road.

"Hey there," the man greeted. He was much taller than Claire, but then again so were most people. "What are you doing out here all by yourself? Is everything alright?"

It was then that Claire realized that she had no idea what she was supposed to tell him, as the truth was rarely an option for her. "I was out camping with some friends," she managed to say. "I went for a walk alone and I got a bit lost."

"A bit lost?" he scoffed. "It's the middle of nowhere out here."

"Yeah, I know," she replied. "I don't know how long I've been walking for or where I am."

He gave her a sad smile. "Well, lucky for you, I've always been a fan of helping out the damsel in distress. Hop on in..." he trailed off questioningly, and Claire realized that he wanted her name.

"Claire," she told him.

He nodded at her and opened the passenger door for her. "I'm Mason," he introduced. "It's nice to meet you Claire." He smiled at her once more, and she hopped into the car.

He closed the door behind her and hopped into the driver side. He had left the car running, and so all he needed to do was put a foot down on the accelerator and they were off.

"So," he began after an awkward silence. "Where are you from?"

Claire paused. She didn't know where they were, but judging from his accent it was still in America somewhere. "Texas," she replied eventually.

"Ah, so a country girl then?" he asked, and she nodded.

Though she didn't really feel like talking to anyone, Claire decided it was best to keep the conversation with Mason going as best she could in the hope of finding out more about where and when she was. "Sort of. I spent some time in the city over the past couple of years, so I guess I know my way 'round both," she told him casually. "So, where exactly are we?" she asked finally, trying to

keep all anxiety and concern out of her voice.

"About ten minutes away from Mystic Falls," he replied. "That's where I'm headed."

Claire groaned internally. She had never heard of Mystic Falls, but had she been camping in the area she would've, and so she was forced to pretend she knew where that was.

"Where do you need to get to?" he asked.

"I'm not really sure," she replied. "I should probably make some calls when I get to town, just to see who can come and get me. My parents will be pissed."

He chuckled quietly. "Yeah, but parents are always pissed."

"True," Claire said agreeably. "So, what bring you to Mystic Falls?"

"My brother's funeral," he replied after a moment of silence.

Awkward silence descended once more.

"I sorry for your loss," Claire replied eventually. "Were you close to him?"

"Not really," he replied, and Claire thought she heard regret in his voice. "I'm kind of the black sheep in the family, but I did grow up with him after all. It's hard to be raised with someone and not be close to them on some level. He was about ten years older than me though, which made some things kind of difficult."

"I can imagine," Claire replied distractedly as she looked at the window at all the road signs.

"So, did your parents know you were out camping in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of friends?" he asked curiously.

Claire shrugged. "That depends if you believe in ghosts or not." He frowned in confusion. "They're dead."

"Oh," he said lamely. "How long ago was that?"

"Their deaths? About 7 or 8 years, give or take," she said simply, still looking out the window.

"So who looks after you now? Do you have any relatives or anything?"

"Just an overbearing grandmother and an incredibly protective uncle," she replied.

"So what did they think of the camping trip?" he asked.

Claire smirked. "That depends if you believe in mind reading or not," she replied, and he frowned in confusion once more. "I didn't tell them."

"Well that was a good idea," he told her sarcastically, and they continued on their way.

* * *

Molly sighed as she lay on the bed, exhausted from a hard day of unpacking and settling in. Matty was fast asleep in his room and had been for some time, and Matt was nowhere to be found. He had most likely found the nearest bar, and was drinking away his sorrow, or whatever it was he did those days. Molly really had no idea.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled a very familiar number, her fingers pressing the keys almost on instinct. The phone rung twice before there was a click and the person on the other end answered.

"Hey Molly," Micah greeted happily. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she told him with a sigh. "It's just been a really long day."

"I'm sure it was," he said empathetically. "How is Matty?"

"He's chipper, as usual. I think the reality of what has happened is kind of lost on him. I'm still stuck deciding whether or not this is a good thing."

"I know what you mean. When we were kids all the crap didn't really affect us either. It was fun back then, wasn't it?" he asked sadly.

"Yeah, it was. I mean, everything was taken from me, but I had Matt and Mohinder promising to protect me, so I knew it was going to be okay," she told him.

"Same here. My parents always protected me, Mom especially. I guess when we're kids we just don't dwell on the bad stuff as much."

"I miss it," Molly said nostalgically.

"What?"

"Being a kid, not caring about all of this. Not that I don't like taking care of Matty, but..."

"You're not his mother, Molly. You should have to be doing what you do. It's not fair," Micah said, and Molly heard anger in his voice.

"But it's not like Matt's gonna do any of it," Molly replied with a groan. "I just...I get that he's going through a really tough time, but so is Matty! He needs to look after his son. I am happy to help, but he needs to take control and be a father."

"Maybe you should try telling him that," he suggested, and Molly shook her head, despite him not being able to see it.

"No way. I...he's too unpredictable. I think it's just better if I don't talk to him much. Just let him come and go as he pleases. By the way, thanks for putting the money in our account. It really makes a difference."

"No problem," he said. "It only takes a couple seconds."

"Yeah, well that's 'cause you're a genius," Molly praised.

"Well, it's mainly due to my ability, but yeah...I am a genius," he replied with a grin.

"Careful smart ass. We wouldn't want you getting a big head now, would we?" Molly teased. "Oh wait, it's too late!"

"Ha-ha, so funny Mols," Micah told her. "I am rolling my eyes, by the way."

"Well thanks for the update," Molly replied sarcastically before laughing. "Thanks for this."

"Thanks for what?"

"For talking to me. Making me laugh. Making me feel a little less alone," she explained.

"Glad I can help. Make sure you let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"I will," she promised. "I should probably let you get back to all your geeky genius stuff."

"Okay. It was nice talking to you," he said, and she couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in his tone.

"You too. Bye."

* * *

**There is the edited version, hope you enjoyed! :)**


	9. You Can't Handle The Truth

**AN: I am so sorry about the delays! I hope to have the next chapter out ASAP, but until then, enjoy this! Review! :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but some of the plot and any OCs.**

* * *

Three weeks after Angela's funeral Renee returned to work. It wasn't very hard to do, as all she needed to do was stand in a room and watch kids dance, and make sure she pointed out the  
occasional error. On a good day, it didn't require a lot of concentration, but the bad days were never fun. These were usually the days when the children had come straight from a sport session at school and were exhausted and wanted to do nothing but lie around, or when the mothers had decided to give them energy drinks to get them a little more energetic.

Of course, a room full of 9-year-olds high on sugar was not an easy environment to be in, but a small part of Renee enjoyed it.

It was near the end of the term, and they were preparing for a performance. This year the board had not so helpfully decided to make the theme 'glitter', at the dress rehearsal glitter ended up all over the dance floor. It wasn't too difficult or dangerous to dance on, but it looked awful and the janitor was on vacation. Renee was stuck sweeping glitter off the floor, hours after class had ended.

It was fairly quiet, and she listened to her iPod on the loudest setting as she focused on the motion of her sweeping, making sure she got every bit of glitter she could see. Of course, she would walk a few steps and then look back to see the light trail of glitter specks, and she had to go back over to clean it up. It was an almost impossible task, but she was determined to get it the room clean.

"I didn't know they hired a new janitor," a familiar voice said, and Renee pulled the plugs from her ears and turned to see James leaning against the door frame.

"Yeah. It's my side job," she replied with a shrug. "It's actually my passion. Dancing's just a side gig. My heart truly lies with the art of the broomstick."

"I'm sure it does," he said with a grin. He looked at the glitter covered floor. "I'm sorry, did I miss something? Did a fairie decide to join your class?"

"I wish," Renee scoffed. "That would be way cool. No, my students had a dress rehearsal today for the big performance next Friday, and the other teachers thought glitter would be a great idea for this year. Personally I don't agree, but hey, I'm just the pretend janitor."

"Ah, the pretend janitor. I've heard people should watch out for those," he said seriously. "I hear they have a violent streak."

"Watch it, I might impale you on my broom," Renee joked, wielding the tool dangerously. "So what are you doing here? I didn't know your mom was working today."

"Nope, she isn't," he replied simply, leaning against the barre with a smirk.

Renee gasped. "Are you a pretend janitor too?"

He raised his hands in surrender. "You got me, now gimme the broomstick," he ordered. "You have to share the workload or I'll be out of my pretend job and I won't get any pretend money."

Renee laughed and handed it over to him. "Well we can't have that, can we?" she asked him rhetorically before sitting herself down on the chair at the front of the room, reserved for teachers to sit on as they observed their class.

"So, what did your brother need?" James asked as he began to sweep the floor.

"What do you mean?" Renee asked absent-mindedly.

"He called when we last spoke, and you left to help him," James explained. "What was wrong?"

Renee bit her lip, pausing for a moment before answering. "Someone in our family had died."

"Oh, wow, I'm so sorry," he told her sincerely, looking up from his work momentarily and meeting her green eyes with his blue-grey ones. "I know how cliche it sounds, but I really am sorry of your loss. Who was it?"

"My mother," Renee replied eventually.

"Are you okay? That was only a couple weeks ago," he asked, a concerned expression on his face.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was a mess at first, but I cleaned myself up when I realized she would hit me over the head for grieving more than a day or two," she told him with a chuckle. "She would have told me it was a waste of my young life, mourning the dead."

"She sounds like a strong woman," James told her. "I wish I could have met her."

Renee snorted. "I don't. She was a bitch to anyone and everyone. Never did understand the concept of tact."

James smiled sadly and looked up at Renee. "You miss her." It was a statement, not a question.

Renee nodded. "More than anything."

"Well, for what it's worth, I am sorry," he told her once more. The two of them was in a comfortable silence for several moments before he clear his throat regaining her attention.

"Now, on a much lighter note, I'm sorry to report that no more glitter will be coming off of these floors."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I mean, there's a lot less than there was, but it still looks terrible," Renee said ruefully, biting her lip. "I guess it'll come off onto people's shoes and things, eventually this place will be clean."

"We can always hope," he said wistfully, chuckling a little before walking over to the closet placing the broom back inside. He walked back out, kicking the door shut behind him. "So, do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?"

Renee paused, almost unable to answer the question. "Umm...I don't think so."

"Good. How do you feel about lunch?" he asked her, and she shrugged, trying to play it cool despite her internal celebration.

"It's a meal. Half way through the day," she answered plainly.

James chuckled and looked at his feet for a moment. "No. How do you feel about having lunch with me?"

Renee smiled. "It sounds great, but I should warn you that lunch time was three hours ago and I am covered in glitter and sweat with no spare change of clothes."

"That's fine," James said dismissively. "How about we just get Chinese and eat it at my place."

"Sounds great!" Renee agreed, smiling at him for a moment before picking up her bag and slipping her shoes back on. "Wait, how did you get here?"

"I flew."

"Ha-ha," she said sarcastically. "Did you drive?"

"Yep," he replied. "But I can pick up the Chinese and you can just meet me at my place," he suggested. "Assuming you drove as well."

"Yeah, I drove. I only fly to work on Wednesdays," Renee told him, and he laughed.

"Well then, I'll just give you my address and we'll be on our way," he said, pulling a piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket and scribbling something down on it.

"Do you always carry stationery in your jacket?" Renee asked as she took the piece of paper and tucked it into her back pocket.

"Only when I plan on giving my address to pretty ladies," he replied with a smirk, and Renee laughed before rolling her eyes.

"Smooth. I'll see you there I guess."

"Yes, you will," he confirmed before slowly backing out of the room and disappearing.

Renee grinned, slowly beginning her own victory dance, but froze when she heard a knock at the door. She turned to see a very amused looking James standing there, and she blushed deeply, running a hand over her hair.

"I just came to let you know that I'll get the Chinese on the way back to my place, so you might be stuck outside for a while," he said, a grin on his face as he realized what Renee had been celebrating.

"Okay," Renee managed to croak, still tucking her hair behind her ears and looking at the ground.

James turned to leave once more, but seemed to change his mind as he turned back to face her. "Was that a piece you were practising for the concert?" he asked innocently.

"Shut up," Renee said, her cheeks becoming even redder.

She could still hear him laughing even when he was all the way down the hall.

* * *

Renee arrived at James' house, feeling very anxious. She was the only car there, and so had to guess that he was still getting the food. She gripped the steering wheel nervously, trying to take deep, calming breaths. _It's just lunch, _she told herself. _Just lunch. _

But it wasn't, not really.

It had been a very long time since Renee had met a guy that could keep up with her. She was not exactly a placid or calm young woman, a fact Angela had loved to remind her of. She preferred action to romance, hip hop to ballet, black to white...she wasn't the delicate flower the past men in her life wanted her to be, much to her late mother's chagrin.

It was unfortunate that the daughter of such a high profile couple and the sister of such an important man should be so clumsy and unorthodox, yet there she was, a woman of reasonable age with no real direction in life. She hadn't been a good enough dancer to get into any good academies. Sure, she was good, but she wasn't as good as everyone else. She loved to dance, but she didn't live to dance, and there was a real difference between the two, a difference that many a judge was able to identify.

So she wasn't really a catch, by any means. She was just Renee. She didn't have an ability like the rest of her family, she wasn't remarkably intelligent, but, the one trait she possessed that often worked to her favor was her humor. It allowed her to connect with people and make longer lasting friendships than most, which was something she was very proud of. It didn't encourage boyfriends, but friends, it most certainly did.

As Renee thought over these things, she began to absent-mindedly tap a beat on the steering wheel, drumming to a song only existing in her own mind. She continued to tap until her hand accidentally slipped and she beeped the horn, shocking herself out of her reverie and making her jump in her seat and hit her head on the ceiling of her car.

Letting out a string of angry and pained curses, Renee rubbed her head gingerly, and frowned when the sound of chuckling reached her ears. She opened her car door and saw James standing there, a bag of Chinese in his left hand and his right hand on his stomach as he laughed loudly.

"Shut up," Renee said jokingly, still rubbing her smarting head.

"Well, I do apologize," he sat, bowing slightly. Renee found herself blushing in front of him for the second time that day, a fact which he mercifully decided to ignore. "Come on in," he said warmly, walking up to the door and unlocking it. He held it open for Renee, and she smiled at him as she stepped inside his home.

* * *

Peter showed up at his sister's door the next day, looking happier than she had seen him in weeks.

"What's up Pete?" she asked, as he embraced her tightly as though he would never let her go. "Peter, what is going on?"

"I just got a call," he said, stepping back and waving his cell around in the air.

"Congratulations Peter," she told him sarcastically. "When did you make a friend?"

"Shut up Nee. It was Claire," he announced, and Renee choked on her own spit.

"What?"

"Yep, my reaction exactly. She's in this little town called Mystic Falls, and she needs me to go and get her," he told her.

"Well I'm coming with you then!" she said decisively.

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"What the hell do you mean 'no'?" she shrieked, thumping him on the head.

He rubbed the quickly forming lump, rubbing it through his hair. "Ouch! I need you to stay with Emma. We just found out that she's pregnant, and she is so worried that something will happen to the baby that will make it be born deaf."

"Wow," Renee said with a wide smile. "That's awesome, I mean really, I'm gonna be an Auntie, but can't Mohinder do it? I mean, he's a doctor!" Renee complained.

"Nope." He shook his head. "Can't. His focus is on checking up on Molly and Matty. They made the move to Denver the other week."

"I know that, I talked to Mols on the phone last week. Matt's pretty fucked up, you know that right?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Anyway, I need you to watch Emma. Please?" he begged, and she sighed.

"Fine, but you better bring Claire back ASAP, you hear?" she said, and he grinned, embracing her once more.

"Thank you so much Nee," he breathed.

"No problemo. By the way, can't you just get Hiro to go and get her? He could do it in five minutes flat!"

"I know, but Ando and Kimiko's wedding is tomorrow and I didn't want to interrupt anything," he explained.

"Fine, but leave now and bring her back to me! I miss our D&Ms," she pouted.

"D and whats?"

"D&Ms. Stands for 'Deep and Meaningful Discussions'," she told him. "We basically sit around and read magazines."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Yeah. Can't get much deeper than Cosmo."

Renee grinned at him. "You know it! Now get out of here!"

"Fine. Can you get your stuff together and go over to the apartment now?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"I'll get a car over there, okay? You drive to that town this instant, y'hear me?"

He nodded with a smirk. "Yes ma'am."

And with that Peter turned and walked away, a certain skip in his step that hadn't been there for a very long time.

Claire was back.

* * *

The moment Desme returned to her motel room the night after being discovered by that man she packed her things, got in her car and drove away as fast as possible. She continued to drive long through the night, only stopping once for gas. After that, she continued on her journey, which only ended when she came upon a small town at the end of the day. She made her way to the only motel in town, and went to sign in.

"Hi ma'am, how can I help you?" the woman at the desk asked after Desme entered the reception.

"I want a room for the night," she said, pulling her wallet out.

"Of course dear," the woman said sweetly. "We only have one room left, so you're lucky you got here when you did."

Desme smiled softly, paid the woman, collected her key and left.

She got back in her car and drove to the parking lot near her room. She parked the car, got out and fetched her suitcase from the trunk before walking up to the door of her room, double checking that  
the number on the door matched the number on the keyring. She then unlocked the room and walked inside, dumping her case in the dark room before running her fingers along the wall and finding the light switch. The room was instantly flooded with light, and she shut the door firmly behind her before looking around the room she had paid for. It was nothing special, just a living room, a bedroom and a doorway she guessed led to a kitchen.

Kicking off her shoes and slipping off her jacket, Desme slowly walked toward the kitchen, hoping there was coffee of some description in there. She was once again met with a dark room, and had to switch on the light in order to see.

"Hello," a voice greeted coolly.

He was there, in the kitchen, just waiting for her.

"How the hell did you get in here?" Desme demanded, taking a step back.

"Breaking into motel rooms is one of my lesser talents," he replied. "Now, I am going to ask you once more. Who are you, what are you, and how the hell do I kill you?"

Desme stared at him. "You...get out. Now," she hissed, stepping aside giving him the space to make his exit.

He walked toward her, looking her in the eye. "No," he replied.

Desme's eyes flared with anger, fury taking over. "Get. Out. Now."

"No."

Elijah watched as her eyes slowly began to lighten, the deep green becoming a lime colour.

"Get out before I do something I regret," she hissed.

"What are you?" he asked curiously, folding his arms over his chest. "You are certainly not a vampire that much I know. Your heart is beating. I am surprised I didn't notice it before, but I was a little preoccupied in my thoughts."

Desme tried to speak, but found herself out of breath. She put a hand to her chest, feeling herself begin to heave as her throat constricted. Her skin began to change, becoming a pale grey in colour, and her veins stuck out of her neck and temple. Before Elijah's very eyes, her veins themselves began to darken, and before he knew what was happening her entire appearance had changed. Her eyes were now a pure white, and black veins covered her body.

She hissed, rushing at him and throwing him into the refrigerator.

Elijah groaned and popped his shoulder back into place before trying to stand, but found himself knocked back once more by the woman in front of him. She slammed him into the wall, holding him  
in place for a moment before he recovered from his shock and used his superior strength to flip them around and pin her to the wall. He watched as her breathing slowed and the veins began to fade. Her eyes slowly returned to their former shade of deep green, and her mouth hung open with shock.

"I..." she began slowly, obviously still rather breathless. "I'm sorry. You...you didn't deserve that. I don't know who or what you are, but you didn't deserve that."

Elijah released her, as she slowly sunk to the ground, her back against the wall as her chest heaved.

"What just happened?" he asked her gently.

"It happens when I get angry or upset," Desme replied.

Elijah seated himself back in his previous position at the table. "What is your name?"

"Desme," she breathed.

"Elijah," he introduced himself. "I would say it is nice to meet you, but you did just attack me."

"Sorry about that. I have spent the last two days trying to run away from you."

"And why is that?" he asked curiously, leaning forward and looking at her.

Desme stood up for where she sat on the floor and walked to the table, seating her tired frame across from Elijah. "Because you scare me."

"Ah, honesty. I like that in a person," he praised. "So, are you conscious while attacking people?"

Desme shook her head. "I just usually wake up covered in blood." She answered honestly.

"And you do not know why this is?"

"Nope."

Elijah stroked the stubble on his chin. "Well...that is fascinating, I must say."

Desme smirked. "That's not usually what people say."

"What do they usually say?"

"Nothing. They're dead," she replied frankly, but Elijah could see the tears beginning to brim in her eyes.

"I am sorry," he told her sincerely. "Truly, very sorry."

"It's not your fault," she replied.

And it was in this moment that one of the strongest friendships the world would ever see was forged.

* * *

**There it is! Again, sorry it took so long, but leave a review and I am sure the next one will be much faster! :)**


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